


A Perfect Commotion

by Ruby_Wednesday



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family, Gen, Lawyers, M/M, Romance, Single Parents, canon typical content warnings apply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:39:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 70,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10057190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruby_Wednesday/pseuds/Ruby_Wednesday
Summary: Laurent needs this job. Not in theI need to put food on the table and a roof over my head kind of way.  He's got a generous inheritance, thank you very much.No, he needs this job to prove he is a functioning adult who did not waste his late mother's money on an expensive education. He can be normal, whatever that is.Laurent needs this job and it feels like his last chance so he tells a little lie to help himself get ahead.Then along comes Damen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are roughly twelve chapters, which will be posted weekly or more frequently. Un-beta'd. If and when the legal stuff gives you pause, just imagine this is set in the United Artesian Empire.

_**And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?** _   
_**And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?** _   
_**And have you changed your life?** _

-copyright Mary Oliver, from the lovely poem The Swan, which the title also comes from.

* * *

 

 

They used to say he was like a swan - calm, graceful on the surface and paddling up a frenzy were no-one could see. Laurent disagreed with that notion at the time. He disagreed with most things at the time. But now, waiting in another grey reception area for another soul-destroying job interview, he might have been able to see the comparison. Outwardly, he was poised and professional (and mature enough to admit that his looks and expensive suit gave him an advantage in that department.) Inside, he was god damn dervish. His heart was racing. His mind was sprinting. What if they asked questions he hadn’t prepared? What if he insulted the interviewer? (that one had precedent.)What if he ripped his trousers when he sat down? (Laurent did like to wear his clothes fitted. It was a genuine concern.)

What if they asked about the gaps in his CV?

He wanted to take out his phone, if not to text Auguste then to look at the reassuring messages his brother had sent earlier. But fiddling on your phone when you were nervous was fine before a class, not before an interview. Laurent breathed, slowly, but not as deeply as he would have liked. He didn’t want the people who already worked here to think he was a heavy breather before he even got an interview.

He needed this job. He needed any job, really, where he could call himself a practicing lawyer. Almost two years had lapsed since he passed the bar and Laurent had never really worked in any legal capacity. He hadn’t worked much at all, really. If he didn’t use his law license soon, itwould be cease to be valid. And after what happened last time, well, he didn’t really think taking the exams again was a good idea.

Then the perky receptionist was calling his name. “So sorry for the delay,” she said. “You were scheduled to interview with Mr.Varenne but he was delayed in court.” Typical. All this time and effort for nothing. “But one of the partners from head office is here and he’s waiting for you just through these doors. Don’t worry. Torveld is very nice.”

“Thank you,” said Laurent.  
-

Torveld explained he normally worked alongside his brother in the head office but he was in town temporarily because of this class action the firm was working on. Had Laurent heard of it?”

“Yes,” Laurent said. “I’ve been following it, actually. The amount of violations in the public documents alone were a shock. I can’t imagine what happened in back rooms.” Laurent had done his research, and he could tell Torveld was impressed. Once Laurent knew that, it was easier to answer questions about his degree and his summer internships and his conflict solving skills. The receptionist had told the truth. Torveld was nice. Laurent thought that maybe he had a shot at this position after all.

Torveld glanced through Laurent’s resumé again, eyebrows knitting together.

“It’s been a couple of years since you passed the bar,” he said.

The bones in Laurent’s chest fused together. “I had a three month position at the city council this summer.” Focus on the positive.

“Before that…?”

Laurent had been here before. He had networked and canvassed and interviewed for more prestigious firms than this. The gap looked bad. It made him look lazy. Yes, they couldn’t discriminate. But they could and would hire the more experienced candidate. He took a sip of water. He let the framed family photo on the desk catch his eye. Not Torveld’s — he was a bachelor — perhaps nieces and nephews? Laurent had researched the firm, too. These cherub-cheeked children were probably the offspring of his brother Torgier.

Laurent had answered this question in various ways over various interviews. He’d embellished — said he was traveling or pursuing some personal goal like writing a book. The dates could not be fudged. He’d been honest and the interviewer had nodded sympathetically. He had not gotten the job. He couldn't be angry about any of it. Even if he'd had some physical illness, no company wanted to hire someone who might go sick again.

“Well,” Laurent said. His eyes strayed to the framed photo again. The younger child wasn't old enough to hold its own head up. That was all the time he could buy before the pause would be a definite sign he was stalling. What the hell. He wasn't going to get this job anyway. Might as well nip the awkward moment in the bud. “It was difficult for me to pursue work at the time. You see, I was at home with the baby.”

“Oh,” said Torveld. “Well, it’s never too late to get back into the workforce. Tell me…what was the most challenging part of working at the city council?”

  
-

  
Auguste called him right after the interview. Laurent wondered if he was a bit weird to be so relieved to hear from his brother.

Not like that.

Just…he was meant to be an adult. He was closer to thirty than twenty now and there were possibly job opportunities in other places. But Laurent liked living near his brother. It was important to have a support system. It wasn’t weird, they assured him, especially when he had lost his parents at such a young age.

“How did it go?” Auguste asked, brightly. Everything he did was bright.

“Hard to tell,” Laurent replied. “I won’t hold my breath.”

There was no reason this interview would be different than any of the others. There would be no offer. So there was no need to feel ashamed for the lie about the baby that did not exist and most likely would never exist for him. Yes, it was wrong to lie in interviews. It was wrong to co-opt a very real struggle for women in the workplace.

(Though posing as a woman had gotten him out of trouble before.)

It wouldn’t matter anyway. He’d never get that job.

“Don’t be so defeatist,” Auguste said.

“I’m not.” Laurent was waiting on the curb for his Uber. “I’m…trying really hard, you know?”

“I know. So…dinner tomorrow night?”

“It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

“Laurent.”

“I heard it.” The defeatist tone. “I’ll be over at five,” he said. “You’re both terrible cooks.”

-  
Planning a meal, doing the grocery shopping, sending out applications and going for his run took up most of the next day. It was quite amazing how you could stretch things out when you were unemployed. Laurent had once spent an entire week re-organizing his bookshelves and he didn’t even have all of his stuff out of storage yet. He arrived at Auguste’s house at four thirty, which was realistically far too early for any kind of dinner invite. But whatever. They were family. Laurent lived here for three months before he got his own apartment. Auguste would have kept him living there permanently, if it was up to him.

He still had a key. But both cars were in the drive so he knocked rather than let himself in. Kashel, Auguste’s wife, answered the door. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy.

“Is this a bad time?” Laurent asked, automatically. “I can go…”

“Jesus, Laurent. We invited you. Come in.” she said. “I just got my period.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said. He really was. Auguste and Kashel had been trying for a baby for a long time. There had been a couple of miscarriages before Laurent moved here. It was tough for both of them. And Laurent now knew more about his sister-in-law’s menstrual cycle and his brother’s sex life than anyone ever should. He wouldn’t say it was the entire reason he got his own place but it was part of it. Ovulation time was…noisy. Their attempts at conception were numerous and spirited.

For poor Kashel, every period she got was stabbing reminder that she had to go longer without being a mother.

“That’s our last round of IVF for a while,” she added. “Our insurance won’t pay anymore.”

“I’m really sorry.” Shit. Maybe Laurent should have stayed living here. What he paid in rent he could have contributed to their insurance bills. God knows what his own premiums and bills had been and Auguste just took care of it. No, he cut himself off. He was not responsible for anyone else’s life. “If you want to pay out of pocket,” he began. “I can…we can.” Laurent and Auguste’s inheritance was basically all tied uptogether. They’d never divided it up. It would have hurt. And they were both fiercely independent, preferring to fend for themselves where possible rather than relying on their parents money.

  
“I know that,” she said. “You don’t even have to say it. I need a break. It hurts too much.”

“Can I be totally crass and offer you this very nice red wine I brought?”

Kashel threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Laurent froze, for a second. He was emphatically not a hugger. But Kashel was surprisingly strong, and she was his family now too. He hugged her back, opened the wine and started cooking. In the back of his mind, there was guilt of the lie at the interview. It had been wrong to invoke some fictional baby when his brother was suffering like this. He focused on chopping the onions instead. He was good at that.

Maybe he’d become a chef when the lawyer thing didn't work out.

  
They ate early because it seemed important to fill the evening.

“This is really good,” August said.

“It’s just lasagne,” said Laurent. He could taste too much basil.

“Best lasagne that’s ever been cooked in this kitchen.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Laurent was smiling as his phone began to buzz. It was rude to answer at the dinner table so he was planning on the silencing the call when he recognised the number on screen. “It’s the law firm from the other day.”

“Answer it!”

“Right. Hello?”

“Hi, Can I speak to Laurent please?”

“This is Laurent.” His cheeks were getting hot. He could feel Auguste and Kashel looking at him.

“Hi, this is Torveld calling from Patras and Patras. I’ll get straight to the point, Laurent. After reviewing all the candidates, we’ve decided to offer you the associate position.”

“Are you serious?”

“I assure you I would not joke about something like this.”

Laurent was aware of Auguste and Kashel, mouths agape, and then the fact he was being quite rude to his … his new employer. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just in shock. Thank you for the offer.”

“Do you need time to think about it?”

“No!” That was Auguste.

“No. No, I do not.” A job. Finally a job. “I’d be delighted to accept. Thank you.”

“Excellent,” said Torveld. “My assistant will send you your contract and arrange your induction. Welcome to the team, Laurent.”

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

“You are very welcome.”

Laurent put down the phone. Casually, he went back to his dinner. It was fun to fuck with Auguste sometimes.

“Well?” Auguste was literally on the edge of his seat.

“I got the job.”

“He got the job!” Kashel pushed back her chair and enveloped Laurent in the second hug of the evening. Then Auguste was wrapping his arms around him, too.

It was nice.

Laurent hadn’t felt what it was like to make someone proud in a very long time.

-  
His first day was a blur. There were countless slideshows about company policy and the correct way to lift boxes. A short third year associate named Jord showed Laurent the ropes. The work, he was confident of. But the copy machine terrified him and he vowed never to touch the coffee maker. His first assignment was to review documents relating the big class action case taking up all the firm’s time. They were normally more of a probate and slipping in the supermarket kind of firm so it was a Big Deal for all involved. A group of local residents had taken a case against a developer who appeared to use some not pleasant (and hopefully not legal) means to convince them to sell their homes for way less than market value. Laurent’s brief time in the city council gave him so knowledge of planning applications and that now seemed more important than his very expensive education.

He didn’t mind the work. That kind of detailed analysis always appealed to him. And he didn’t have to speak to anyone. Win all round.  
He came home the first day, with the feeling like all he wanted to do was crawl under his covers and never get up. But he did get up. He was so proud of himself for getting up. There was time when that was too much for him. He worked hard and relished the challenge. It was all going so well, until Friday came and Torveld ‘just popped down’ to doc review to check on some papers. His way of saying hurry the fuck up. He made cheery small talk with everyone and of course asked Laurent how he was settling in.

“Great,” said Laurent. “We’ve gotten everything related to power and energy covered today.”

Torveld smiled. “And how are you settling in?”

“Oh, good, I hope.” Flashing a smile back. Laurent did know how to be charming when he had to be. “Jord showed me around. It’s good to work with someone who just gets to the point.”

“You got everything sorted with HR?”

“Yep. Nowhere has as meticulous contracts as a law firm right?”

“Any childcare issues?”

Laurent nearly choked. There was nothing in his mouth but air but he nearly choked all the same. The fake baby was back to haunt him.

“No,” he said. “That’s …no. Well, unless you count showing Orlant there how to work the coffee machine.”

“Hey!” It had happened the other way around.

“You do know once you pass your three month probation you get better benefits, too?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

Someone appeared at the door then. It was Jord. “Torveld! I’ve got motions back for you to look at,” he said. “And the intern took your car to the cleaners.”

Torveld looked embarrassed. “I wouldn’t normally have an intern do that kind of work,” he said. “But there’s a damn kid in my motel building that keeps egging my car. It’s the second time this week and I can’t go to the court with eggy car now can I?”

Eggy car. Was this really the best legal mind in the city?

“Kids these days, eh?” Orlant offered.

“My nieces are terrors. It’s all ahead of you, Laurent.” With a clap on the shoulder that took Laurent by surprise. “Have a good weekend, folks.”

“You too.”

“Kid?” Orlant asked, over the top of a paper file.

“It’s complicated.”

Laurent was so fucked.

-  
Sunday afternoon, Auguste insisted Laurent come over for the last usage of his grill this year. Incinerating meat was as far as Auguste’s cooking skills went. Laurent was oddly intrigued to see how he would feed himself all winter. Most likely, the local takeout places got a revenue boost. Laurent tried to get out of it. But Auguste knew his social life was non-existent and reading was not an acceptable excuse to his brother. So he made a bomb pasta salad and took an Uber to Auguste’s house at the required time. There were quite a few cars already there. Apparently August’s Last (grill) Stand was quite famous among his friends. Laurent had met them all individually over the last months but it was quite another thing to have them all there at once. He’d have to bring his A game, in terms of socialisation, so Auguste didn’t worry. And it would take him days to recover from the interaction.

It was good to distract Kashel though. She was still down about the failed IVF attempt. She was like Auguste — thrived in a large group. But for all the cheery smiles, the warm way she ushered Laurent into the house and praised his salad and made jokes with their many friends, both of them were hurting deeply. Laurent had to be mindful of that.

He absolutely could not tell them he invented a fictional baby to woo an interviewer and now said fake baby had come back to bite him on the ass.

Kashel’s friends were nice. They decided to accept Laurent into their fold on first sight. Him talking football with the boys was never an option and he didn’t really mind. It was less effort to talk Housewives with them than stats with Auguste’s bros. Laurent accepted a beer and felt himself relax. This was a casual get together. Kids in the yard. Boys at the grill. Women at the wine. Normal. He didn’t need to make it something big in his head.

And Auguste casually dropped into conversation here and there that Laurent had finally acquired a job. There was congrats, and more back-slapping, which were nice and strange. And it was easier to join in conversation when you too had work in the morning and a boss and other such adult things.

It was easier when Auguste was proud.

Laurent ate. He drank beer. He helped Kashel’s friend stage an arty insta shot in the yard. He listened, with equal amounts disgust and fascination, while another explained the complicated Kardashian-Jenner-Chyna-Tyga family dynamic. He’d been unemployed for some time. There wasn’t much about trash television that he didn’t already know. Somehow, in the centre, he had formed opinions on each and every daytime tv host and it still a struggle not to argue about them online or in public. It had been normal once. The time he’d introduced everyone there to Jeremy Kyle caused debate for at least three weeks.

Most men his age had zero opinions on such things and Laurent was furiously determined to avoid living up to any stereotype — gay, unemployed, former resident of a ‘centre’ so elite the gates had no sign and its treatment programmes had no website.

He stepped outside to see if Auguste needed any more help or maybe just for air. The back yard was empty now. Just the lingering smoke and falling leaves remained.

No.

It wasn’t empty.

There was a child.

Laurent blinked. Twice. Three times.

He hadn’t drank that much. He wasn’t on any medication. There was no earthly reason why he should be hallucinating a baby in Auguste’s backyard. Not just any baby. A baby that looked like him. Fair skin, white blond hair and piecing blue eyes. All of Kashel’s friends and their various broods were as dark as her.

“Hello,” he said, rather too formally. The child was splashing among the leaves as if they were water. He was about to take step forward when a man dashed around from the side of the house.

“There you are,” he said (to the baby, not Laurent.) “How’d you escape so quickly, buddy?” He scooped the child into his big arms. He was tall, large all over, and extremely handsome. Men like him did not exist in towns like this. Men like him mostly existed in Hollywood movies about ancient wars, where the star had personal trainers, chefs, surgeons and Adobe Photoshop. He smiled at Laurent, friendly. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I promise I don’t usually let my kid run wild like that. He made a run for it while I was getting his pacifier from the trunk. You’re Laurent, right? I’m Damen.” Shifting the child to one arm, so he could offer his hand to Laurent.

Christ, he was strong. Laurent was glad he had made it a personal goal in life to perfect a strong handshake of his own.

“Hello,” he said. Shit. Say something else. Damen would think that was the extent of his vocabulary. “He’s …he doesn’t look like you.”

Damen laughed a little. “I get that a lot. You wouldn’t believe the amount of people who told me I should get a DNA test when Theo was born.”

“Cute name,” Laurent said.

“After my father.” Damen was smiling down at Laurent. Theo said something and Damen popped the soother in his mouth.

_He could pass for mine._

It was a ridiculous thought, a ridiculous chance to take. But Laurent could see little other choice.

And he’d always been partial  to a good ruse.

“Damen,” he said. “I know this sounds weird but is there any chance I could briefly borrow your baby?”


	2. Chapter 2

Damen’s thick brows shot up to his hairline. Shit. Shit. Laurent could rectify this. Generally, he was articulate.He could sweet-talk people with ease and when that didn’t work he was perfectly capable of using his mouth to beat them into submission.

“I am aware of how strange that sounds,” he continued, quickly. “I don’t want to do anything to him. Or go anywhere with him.”

“What a relief,” said Damen. Ouch. He could be sarcastic. Didn’t seem the type.

“Maybe just take a quick picture. Together? It occurred to me that I look a lot like him and … I kind of need this? I won’t do anything weird.”

“Laurent, I’m gonna stop you. Whatever you think you’re saying and the words that I am hearing are not the same thing at all.” Damen held up his hands. It wasn’t defeat. It was time out. He passed Theo a plastic plane that must have been in his back pocket all along. The boy started to make the universal zooming sounds. Laurent had a low tolerance for irritating noises but he made exceptions for children. “What exactly are you asking me?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I should go. Forget I said anything.”

“Should I tell your brother?” He sounded like Auguste, when they were kids, threatening to tell their mother that Laurent had hidden in the school library during lunch instead of playing outside with the other kids. Laurent was much older when he realised Auguste was checking up on him. At the time he’d thought Auguste just happened to walk past the elementary school during his own lunch break.

“No!” Christ, Auguste had enough on his plate. Laurent had put him through enough. He had promised everyone, including himself that those reckless days were over. “Look,” he began, then let the rest of the words out like a rush of air from panicked lungs.. “I just got a new job last week. I’d been looking for a long time before I could find anyone to hire me and I may have gotten a little bit…creative during the interview.”

“You lied?”

“Are you the morality police?” Laurent caught himself. This was not the time to annoy Damen any further. “There’s a gap on my resumé. I filled it in with some time at home with a fictional baby and now my boss thinks…”

“You have a child.”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t have a child.”

“No. I’ve never even…No.”

“You’ll get caught out eventually,” Damen said. “Lies catch up with people.” There was a tone there, like he did not approve of any of this.

“The boss is only here for a few weeks while we work on a big case. I don’t plan on working there long term. I want —” He stopped. There was no need to explain his whole life to this stranger. It sounded silly when he said it out loud. Especially to someone with a watch as expensive as Damen’s.

All but the most idealistic people in law school laughed at him and his desires to do some practical good once he qualified. The world was not equal. There were people who could not afford expensive representation. There were children with no-one to speak up for them. There were young men whose lives were destroyed because they made some mistakes and they didn’t have money or contacts to make them go away.

“You a lawyer?”

“Just about.”

“Theo’s mom works for the DA. I know how tough it can be.”

Right. The child had a mother. Damen had a wife or a girlfriend or an ex who for some unknown reason gave up the best looking man Laurent had ever seen. It was typical, really. The first time in…he never saw men he liked. He never trusted men enough to like them. But he had rotten luck so it shouldn’t have surprised him. Nor should it have surprised him when the child flung the toy airplane right at his face. Laurent saw it coming, but, well he didn’t really thing a kid would be able to throw hard enough to make contact.

He just let it happen.

Maybe that was typical, too.

“Theo!” Damen was too amused for that to be a chastisement.

“He’s stronger than he looks.” Laurent rubbed his cheek with one hand and retrieved the plane with the other. He zoomed it back towards Theo, then pulled it away last minute. Revenge, maybe, but the child burst into peels of laughter. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You are…” Damen could probably lift a car of a kid without any life or death adrenaline. “Not weak,” Laurent finished, weakly.

Damen looked proud. Men were easy. Admire their strength. Appeal to the caveman part of them by admiring their offspring. Let them mark their territory.

They said, in the centre, that Laurent had an unhealthy habit of using his looks and charm to manipulate people. His response : it’s unhealthy that I can do that. If people are so shallow, so convinced they can claim ownership of someone to boost their own ego then they deserve to be exploited. He wasn’t wrong, in many ways, but that nice lady with the comfortable couch had said that it wasn’t about other people. It was about Laurent. Was he comfortable with that aspect of his behaviour?

Depends on the person, to be perfectly honest.

Damen was Auguste’s friend, which was an automatic tick on the checklist. Granted, Auguste wasn’t always the best judge of character. He was too trusting, too optimistic, despite the many blows life had dealt him. But he mostly surrounded himself with similar personalities (Laurent excepted) and Damen seemed to fit the easy, confident mold of Auguste’s friend group. They’ve had easier lives, he’d been told, as if that was a good thing.

“I know lying is wrong,” Laurent said. It was one of those rare occasions when the words weren’t calculated. “When I said it, I never thought I’d see the interviewer again. I’ve almost gotten lots of jobs.” Each time he’d gotten close was a kick in his straight white teeth. It was another reminder that he had everything going for him and still couldn’t quite make it up the mountain. It was being admired and then hiding in his childhood bedroom, praying for rescue. He’d been honest. He’d tried various excuses. He’d even lowered himself to endure an innuendo-laden dinner with a recruiter who never had any intention of helping him.

“ I’m good at talking, excellent at arguing. I’ve got a stellar education and glowing references,” Laurent continued. “But they’re dated. There are hundreds of younger, hungrier kids coming out of college doing summer internships in the big five firms that probably don’t even remember me. Have you ever hired anyone?”

“A few times.” With a hint of a smile.

“Unless you’re a complete idiot, you set aside whatever personal impression you have of my — of the candidate and think of the role. You hire the person with the best, recent experience. No-one wants a liability in their office. It might have been different in our parents’ day but not anymore. It’s an employers market and they’re not operating on sentimentality.”

They certainly didn’t want the guy who, if you asked around, was a sociopath, a bitch, a dirty fighter, a mean drunk and absolutely, definitely (according that one college Facebook group) responsible for the flood in the rapey frat house senior year. Face to face charm only got you so far when networking, contacts and who knew who was just as important.

Reputation or whatever.

“True,” Damen said.

“Business isn’t about giving or getting chances. It’s about fighting tooth and nail to get ahead.”

“Nothing done for friendship or feeling,” Damen said, an echo, with a faraway look in his eyes. “Not if you want to be successful.”

“I will be successful.” Laurent’s voice was steel. “I’m not the first person to tell a lie to get ahead. I’m good at my job. I just need to get …” He paused to retrieve Theo’s toy and was struck with a moment of clarity. This was stupid. He didn’t know Damen. It didn’t matter that he was hot and seemed nice. Lots of people were hot and seemed nice and it was only an act. Laurent only needed to look in a mirror to see that.

“Here.” Without warning, Damen shoved Theo in Laurent’s direction.

Laurent wasn't a complete monster. He didn’t want the child to be injured on his account, so he had no choice but to take him into his arms. He kept playing with the plane. Theo kept laughing. When he laughed, he squirmed like a fish, so Laurent set him down on the porch and kept playing the flying game. At first, he was aware of Damen watching but then the sheer glee on the child’s face and the warmth of knowing his simple game could cause that reaction made Laurent forget his audience. They were playing. It reminded him of being young, looking up at Auguste like he was the brightest star in the sky.

“Kids always know,” Damen said.

“Excuse me?” Laurent looked up from where he had crouched to see that Damen had his phone out.

“Smile, Theo.” It didn’t take much to get the kid’s attention. Babies these days knew to pose when a phone was brandished at them. “You too, Laurent.”

He couldn’t smile at the camera but he could smile at Theo when they went another few rounds down the imaginary runway. “What did you mean?” Laurent asked again.

“Oh.” Damen’s face was obscured by the phone. He had one of those big Otterbox cases that you could probably back a truck over. “Kids. Animals. They always know if someone is trustworthy.”

Laurent was smiling when he looked up. Damen looked at his phone, then locked the screen again. Laurent was thinking of his next session at the stables. He was thinking of Auguste’s childhood dog who always growled at their uncle.

Theo threw the plane at his head again.

“No throwing,” said Damen, seriously. “Play nice.”

“Can he understand you?”

“He’s nearly two.”

That wasn’t an answer. Damen picked Theo up again so Laurent straightened. Theo threw the plane. Again. This time it whacked Damen in the lip.

“Fly. Fly,” he babbled.

“No more flying.” Damen gave Laurent an apologetic look as he took the plane away. Theo started wailing then, so Laurent knew why he had looked sorry in advance. He took a toy police car from the bag. “Here, do the sirens.”

That was only marginally better than the wailing.

“Nik?” Theo said. “Car?”

“Did you steal a car in England and get chased by the police?” Laurent asked.

“My buddy Nik’s a cop,” Damen said. “He turns on the siren for Theo sometimes. It’s their thing.”

The siren impression got louder.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you with that one,” Laurent offered. It seemed like the kind of thing people said about kids.

“You have no idea. I don’t know how Jokaste did it for so long. Well, I do. With lots of sleepless nights and a huge amount of hatred for her idiot classmates who complained about law school stress when they didn’t have a kid and pregnancy to deal with.”

Laurent was impressed. Hell, it had taken him forever to get to this point without any children in tow. This Jokaste girl had already earned his admiration.

“And what did you do?” He heard the tone in his voice; the one that came out when he was uncomfortable.

“Worked my ass off and paid for a nanny,” Damen said.

“I meant, like, school or work. Nevermind.”

“I’m on sabbatical. I’m an architect.” He had to raise his voice of Theo’s tantrum. “Listen, I better get this monster some food before Kashel and Auguste turn me away from the party.”

“They would never —”

“It was a joke.”

“We keep crossing wires,” Laurent said.

“Maybe paths, too.” Damen smiled. Laurent felt a little light-headed. He shouldn’t have refused Auguste’s burnt burgers. “Here.” He held out his phone. Theo made a grab for it. “Not you, buddy. Laurent, here. Put your number in this.”

“What —”

“I’ll send you a couple of the pictures I just took,” Damen continued. “Don’t tell Jokaste. Not even if she tortures you. She would kill me.”

“I’m immune to torture.” Laurent dialed his own number. It felt less significant than putting himself in the contact list.

“No-one is.” Damen smiled again. “She has ways and means mere mortals could never dream of. Before Theo, she drove like a maniac and never got so much as a ticket. If torture doesn’t work she’ll flirt it out of you.”

“I am definitely immune to that.” Laurent found private amusement in his sentence.

Damen’s smile took on a new dimension. “I found my way free from her clutches,” he said.

“Oh my God.” Kashel marched out onto the porch at that very moment. “My friends inside work for CPS, Damen. Your child is screaming.”

“It’s the terrible twos.” Deadpan.

“He’s not two yet.”

“We’re early developers in my family.”

“Oh my God.” Kashel took it upon herself to console Theo and it did something to Laurent’s heart to see the fond way she fussed over the baby. Damen and Kashel shared similar colouring. So did Laurent, Auguste and infamous Jokaste. Kashel must have known that. She must have wanted that. Then Auguste was there, too, calling Damen bro and offering him a craft beer. Laurent wanted to fade away. Thankfully, Auguste was the host and Auguste was in demand. People were always drawn to him. Laurent tended to repel people.

It took a while for him to tear himself away from his loyal subjects. But Laurent knew he would pass comment eventually.

“You met Damen,” Auguste said.

“What’s that about Matt Damon?”

“Laurent.”

“I was going to watch the new Bourne movie but I am not sure if I care any more. Especially since he wasn’t in the last installment. And the white washing in that Great Wall movie was very uncool.”

“He’s a really nice guy.”

“Nicer than Batfleck for sure.”

“You think so, too, or you wouldn’t be fucking with me like this,” Auguste said.

“His kid is cute. He seems…chill.”

“Never say that again.”

“Friendly. Like a slobbery dog that bounds up to you in the park.” Laurent didn’t want to talk about Damen and it wasn’t because he might be developing a little crush. It was because he didn’t want Auguste to know about his lies to get the job and the warm, easy way Damen went along with them.

“He’s bi,” Auguste said, bluntly. “And single.”

Laurent felt his cheeks flame. “You find the one person at your party who’s not straight as a ruler and think that’s enough to get me interested?”

“Don’t be haughty, little brother.”

“Don’t you little brother me.”

“You were almost smiling at him.”

“Wow. Such observation skills. I cannot believe the security branch of the our grand armed forces ever let you go.”.

“Oh my God,” said Kashel, joining them. “Stop bickering. I need your help to make the margaritas.” Her eyes were red again at the edges.

“Show me where to grab the blender.” Laurent, having lived in this house for several months, knew the exact shelf in the utility room to find the blender. But it seemed like Kashel needed a moment. And maybe he needed to get away from prying brothers and his heightened awareness of Damen’s location in the modest house.

“I’m fine,” Kashel said, behind the louvered door.

“I didn’t ask.” Laurent reached for the blender.

“I can carry it. It’s not like I’m pregnant or anything.”

“Kashel. Breathe.”

“I’m fine!” She made a grab for the blender.

“You know, at the centre they said FINE stands for —”

“My Granny was a gambling addict. I know the acronyms.”

“Hey, I’m not an addict.”

“Only to torturing yourself.”

“You’re such a kind sister-in-law,” Laurent replied. “You see I love torturing myself so much that you’ve decided to take up the mantle for me.”

“I’m not meant to feel like this,” Kashel said, an admission. “I’m meant to be different than the people I grew up with whose only aim in life was making babies. But it hurts so much. It’s like a part of me is missing. And if I talk about it too much, Auguste gets sad. He feels this too and I don’t want him to think he’s not enough for me.”

Auguste was making silly jokes on the other side of the slatted doors. The light filtered through in shadows and straight lines.

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Laurent said. It was the right thing to say for her, but also the thing he was feeling.

“It’s selfish,” she said.

“It’s human.”

“There are lots of kids who need homes. We’re still doing the fostering course. Adoption’s on the cards. But I want something that’s ours. I want to feel it inside me and love it before anyone else,” Kashel said.

“I know this isn’t about me,” Laurent said. “But I want that for you both, too. My family has a history of fucked-up-ness as you know. Auguste is better. If anyone should carry on the family bloodline, it should be him.”

Kashel’s sad eyes took on a new kind of shine. “I don’t know —”

“Kash! People are thirsty,” Auguste called in from the kitchen.

“There’s water in the tap,” she shouted back. But she still went out and tucked herself under Auguste’s arm. Laurent wasn’t much of a drinker anymore but he liked to keep busy. It was easier than talking to people, especially when he’d exhausted his mental capacity for small talk several hours ago. He had to face work again tomorrow. Damen still hadn’t sent the pictures to his phone. Maybe Laurent could find someone to do a good Photoshop job. He could pay. Auguste was the best person he knew at computers but that was not an option. Craigslist, maybe? Reddit?

Then he’d work hard and hopefully the case would settle and Torveld would go back to head office and he’d get a new job and this would be a distant memory. He could add the fake baby to the long list of messes he’d gotten himself into. At least while the blender was whirring, he didn't have to make conversation with anyone.

“Pass that to Damen.” Kashel pressed a glass into his hand and Laurent automatically handed it across the island to Damen. Their eyes met. Damen’s eyes were very dark and very easy to look at. A different kind of flush came to Laurent’s cheeks as Damen took his first sip of the drink.

“I think I’ll have one, too.”

“Have this.” Damen passed the glass back. “Kashel, just a bit more lime and it’s perfect.” Laurent was left holding the glass. He wasn’t…was he supposed to drink it? After Damen’s mouth already left its shape on the salt. “I already a beer,” Damen continued. “I’ve got the car and a kid with me.”

Laurent nodded. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he hid his smile behind a salted glass.

-  
It would have meant something to respond to Damen’s message while they were both still at Auguste’s house. So later that night, when Laurent was trying to mentally prepare for another day of work, he fired off a quick thank you to Damen.

Who responded with the grin face emoji.

When Laurent was younger, and messages were different, the lack of a question meant the conversation was over. It was different now. Conversation flowed through multiple messages and emojis were a language all of their own. Thankfully, he was clever and good at talking and communicating so he picked such thinks up quickly. A grin face was different to a smiley face, so Laurent typed again.

 

Laurent: _I promise I won’t do anything with these pictures. I’m a lawyer now so I can even draft us a contact and everything._  
Damen : _maybe one promising you won’t tell jokaste_  
Seriously.  
She’d kill us both  
Laurent : _I’ll start now_  
Damen : _I was joking,_  
_But seriously stop promising you won’t do anything weird_  
 _It’s like a sign that you will do something weird. Offering false assurances or whatever_  
 _I thought lawyers knew more about these kind of warning signs_  
Laurent : [embarrassed face emoji]  
Damen : _Haven’t you read the Gift of Fear?_  
_You should totally read the Gift of Fear_  
_I got it for Kashel, Jokaste and the kid who works the front desk my gym for Christmas_  
_Well he’s like college age but he’s afraid all the time_  
Laurent : _I’m not afraid of anything_  
Damen : _me neither_  
_Well, except Jokaste and the future and Theo pooping himself in public again._  
 _Exploding diapers are no joke, yo_  
 _Shit. He’s awake again now._

That was the end of the conversation.

Laurent was proud of himself for not overanalysing it. He didn’t even dwell on the emphasis he had put on not being weird with pictures. When it came to children, you could never be too careful. It wasn’t anything to do with him. It was just being decent.

Later, he looked up the book Damen had suggested. It didn’t surprise him that it was a self-help book. Laurent, as a rule, and despite his … difficulties did not care for self help books. He preferred to figure things out himself or with the aid of a trained professional. But if it was good enough for Damen, Oprah and Amy Poehler it was good enough for him. He bought it on amazon and impulsively sent Damen the screenshot.

Another emoji response.

Then Damen added him on Snapchat.

Laurent only held himself back from more social media stalking because more messages lit up his phone

Auguste: _I’m so glad you came to the cookout today. Thank you for talking to Kashel, too. She trusts you, you know?  
I love you, bro_

Laurent coloured. He felt like the only person in the world who would flush over a perfectly normal family sentiment given through the medium of Whatsapp.

Laurent : _Never call me bro again_

The next message was from Kashel, who was a talker not a texter. She would call in the middle of the day to ask whether he co-worker’s mother should buy sea salt or Himalayan pink salt. She drove a lot between appointments and would chat away on bluetooth to whoever was available to answer. Often, Laurent before he got this job.

K$EL : _Lolo! Can I call you Lolo? I am writing to tell you that you need to STOP putting yourself down_  
_Like right now._  
_That’s what I was going to say in the panty_  
_Lol *pantry_  
_We are family. All three of us. You are PART OF IT_  
_YOU ARE Going to be kick ass at work this week_  
_Ily_  
Laurent : _how drunk are you both right now?_  
K$EL : _VERY VERY SLOSHED. WE LUV YOU, BRO_  
Laurent : _get to bed. Drink lots of water.I left some good painkillers in the guest bathroom cabinet before I moved out. Call me in the morning if either of you don’t feel up to driving._  
-  
Laurent went to work happy. Well, as happy as he could ever be.

His mood was an eight, he reckoned. It had never climbed that high when he was actively reporting his moods, except on horse therapy days and Auguste’s visits. Even then, it had been a limited kind of happiness. A caged bird singing. He didn’t feel trapped, even as he buzzed into the basement document room.

“Good weekend?” Orlant asked.

“Not bad. How about you?”

“Watched the game yesterday.”

“We kicked your ass,” Jord chimed in. That saved Laurent pretending he knew what game they were talking about. “You settling in all right, Laurent?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Good. We’ve got a heap of work to this morning. They just got all these files back from county. And some preliminary depositions from before you joined and this case snowballed.”

Laurent took of his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. The work was tedious but doable. There was something comforting about knowing he could do this kind of work without fear of failure. It was important that he didn’t get overwhelmed again. The first week, Laurent had torn through his tasks with nothing but determination. This week, he had the confidence to allow himself to think. This wasn’t his dream — an unimportant class action against a developer with endless resources wasn’t anyone’s dream. But as he worked through the documents, he was at least glad to be on the side of the plaintiff. These people had been forced from their homes with bogus claims and scare tactics and what was being built in their place would price them out of the area. It wasn’t glamorous or exciting. But it was important in its own way.

The day flew by with Laurent lost in his work. When he was younger, law school had appealed to him because he was clever, good at picking things apart and good at arguing. He had notions of advocating for abuse victims and defending the innocent in ancient court rooms. In real life, well, it was mostly paperwork. Even now, the unspoken goal was to amass enough potential evidence for the defendants to settle.

The call of caffeine brought him to the break room in the late afternoon. This far into fall, the light outside was fading. The trees were vibrant orange and red, colours that would soon disappear to bleak brown. Laurent wanted to pull out his book but he knew deep down if he wanted to win the respect of his co-workers acting like he didn’t want their company was not the way to do it. They were chatting about fishing of all things, and Laurent could remember Auguste helping him make a rod when they were kids.

You couldn’t ignore you co-workers but it was break and they were all realistic about their actual priorities. It was fine to scroll through your phone. Laurent couldn’t help the the curve of his mouth when he saw the snapchat notifications.

From Damen.

It wasn’t anything crazy. Damen pushing Theo on a swing. Damen feeding Theo orange mush pretending the spoon was an airplane.

It wasn’t anything special. Probably Damen sent them to everyone in his contacts. Looking after a kid all day had to be boring. But Laurent’s heart was beating a little faster as he took a snap (all right, several until he found the best lighting and angle) to send back.

Laurent : _I see now why he thinks it’s acceptable to throw toy airplanes at my head_

Damen: _Hey! I don’t throw things. Believe it or not his face gets that dirty while I have complete control of the spoon_

Another snap. This time a selfie. Caption : _So does my shirt._

Laurent had … ideas. Like what if Damen’s shirt got all dirty and he had to take it off.

If he was someone else, or if there wasn’t a kid at the centre of these snaps. Laurent might have found way to say to that.

Laurent : _You should be wearing a bib too._

Laurent set his phone down then, aware the people were giving him a few odd glances. This was a pretty young office. It’s not like they hadn’t seen anyone use Snapchat before.

“What?”

“You’ve been here over a week and that’s the first time we’ve seen you smile,” said Orlant. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Laurent saw Torveld at the door then, so he turned his phone over to where he had sneakily set the lock screen to one of the pictures Damen had sent.

“Ah,” said Torveld. “Good to see you settling in.”

“That’s just what we were saying,” said Jord.

“Oh, really. Both of us?” Orlant joked. Laurent hoped Torveld has noticed the picture and that would be enough to corroborate his lie. He hit the screen again just to be on the safe side. “How’s your neighbour, boss?”

“Awful,” said Torveld. “The only room front desk could move me to was right beneath him. What’s the point of that? Everywhere’s booked up with the fall festival and that convention on this month.”

“You could move hotels.”

“We have a deal with this chain of motorlodge.”

Yep. Laurent’s new firm was definitely not glamorous.

“Last night, he played … “ Torveld dropped his voice, “ _Pornographic material_ until two AM. The last time I complained, he made out like I was trying to gain entry to his room. And on Sunday, he put ketchup under the handles of my car door!”

Laurent had to suppress a laugh.

“Can’t you just threaten him?”

“I did.”

But Torveld was not very threatening.

“Threaten him with nuisance suits and noise complaints and anything that would scare him.”

Torveld shook his head. “I don’t think this kid is scared of anything.”

-  
Back at his desk, Laurent was half wondering if he should ask Auguste and Kashel for advice about Torveld’s problem neighbour. Kashel was a speech and language therapist for the state, and she dealt with lots of problem kids. Most of her friends worked in human services in one way or another. Since Auguste left the military, he worked as a coach in the middle school. It felt wrong to Laurent at first, that someone with Auguste’s ability to lead and strength of mind would spend his days in a stinky public school gym.

When he voiced it, he sounded like someone he didn’t want to sound like. And neither of them liked to talk about the dark days when Auguste had first been deployed. Laurent’s worry. His…being left behind. But he saw it now, the importance of working with people. He trusted Auguste when he said his years of serving had left him quite exhausted when it came to leadership and hard decisions. Not to mention worn out with the dark side of humanity.

So he wasn’t paying attention when Jord plopped some new files down in his lap.

“What’s this?”

“The resident community leader put this together,” Jord replied. “The boss wants you to go through it and see if you can write some statements for him.Check your email for details.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He thinks you’re very good with words and he wants to put that to use.”

On anyone else, that would have come with jealousy. But Jord and Orlant seemed content to play to their own strengths and find their success that way. This was a lot for someone as new to the firm as Laurent and felt a new sense of pride as he dove into the file. Facts were one thing, but it was often emotive stuff that won cases. The residents had put together a dossier of some of the subtle ways they had been misled and mistreated by the company. The developers had wormed their way into the community, making it seem like their work would benefit everyone who lived their. It was unscrupulous. Laurent was dying to tear it apart. Oh, he could find such joy in picking this apart. Death by a thousand cuts. Men like these, rich greedy arrogant men who thought they could stampede over little people and leave behind broken pieces, they did not deserve mercy.

Half-way through an article about the developers sponsoring a youth baseball tournament, Laurent laid eyes on a grainy photograph that made his stomach twist.

“Who’s this?” he demanded, though he didn’t really need the confirmation.

“You haven’t seen them before?” Jord sounded amused. “That’s Kastor. His name is on all the documents. He’s the one we’re suing.” The name was familiar to Laurent, of course. Kastor was the CEO of Akielos & Sons. He’d read it countless times these last few days. “The other guy in the picture is his brother. You’ll have seen that name on the blueprints. Some of the statements, too”

“I’m pretty sure he designed the whole new development,” Orlant added.

“He was poised to take over the company until very recently,” said Jord.

"What's his name again?" Orlant asked. "It's something long."

"Damianos," said Laurent. "But he goes by Damen."

Great.

Just fucking great.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys! i was blown away by the response to the first chapter. you're the best <3


	3. Chapter 3

Keep his boss from finding out he doesn’t have a kid. Keep Auguste from finding out he lied about a kid to get this job. Keep everyone at work from finding out he’s been messaging (OK,  tentatively flirting with) the brother of the dude they’re suing. That’s definitely a breach of his terms of employment, especially since Damen would be right on that lawsuit if he wasn’t at home with Theo.

Keep his work at Patras and Patras from messing this fledgling thing with Damen.

Keep sane.

Keep the number of the centre to hand in case he needed to check himself back in. It felt tempting when all his lies and mistakes started to snowball.

Sometimes people asked Laurent why he liked to run. Generally, it was just chit-chat. Most people like to talk about their hobbies. But running wasn’t a hobby to Laurent any more than eating oatmeal for breakfast was a pleasure activity. Healthwise, exercise was always a good idea. He liked cardio better than strength training and made good use of the punching bag hanging from his ceiling. He hated team sports, gyms made him claustrophobic, and any kind of class was literal nightmare fuel. _I’d rather die than go to soulcycle_ , he told Kashel. _I don’t spend my days playing dodgeball with kids,_ he told Auguste. _I can’t exactly saddle a horse in the local park_ , he told the physio who warned him about his knee problems.

_It keeps me sane._

But to admit to anyone else would be to admit that maybe his mind wasn’t always in the best place.

So Laurent didn’t talk about it.

After seeing Damen’s name on all those documents, he acted like nothing had happened. He did his work. He went to bed. He didn’t sleep very well and he didn’t want to take a sleeping pill, so he was in the office the next day before anyone else. The sunrise was pretty and there was a little voice in his head telling him to send a snap to Damen. So he did.

Then he went down to the doc room and thought only of work for nine hours.

But Patras and Patras wasn’t the kind of office where they expected their staff to kill themselves working. These were the slackers his old law school classmates had scoffed at before gruelling internships at intense firms. These were the people who wouldn’t have gotten into his law school at all. Laurent had come in early and met his targets. So Laurent was told to go home before four o’clock.

He still made a point of checking the time on his phone in the hopes Torveld would notice his picture and just, like, absorb it as something natural and stop asking questions. Laurent had spent ten minutes that day seriously considering killing off his fictional child. Two things stopped him : a)Lawyers were good at checking records and b)even he wasn’t cold enough to fake a dead baby after using a very sweet living baby as his visual representation.

At least by leaving early he could get a run in before it got dark. Laurent set an easy pace and the leaves rustled under his feet. The park was a different place in daylight. He knew that from his unemployed days but it felt more obvious now. There were teenagers sulking around benches and junior soccer teams practicing. The playground was full of mothers and little kids, gossiping and squealing. The noise made Laurent glance that way but then he picked up his pace. He wasn’t weird. He pushed himself harder, falling into the place where running became second nature.

His mind quieted.

This was why he ran.

Of course, he wasn’t the only person who ran this park. Not be a long shot. So he didn’t pay too much heed when a shadow, then footsteps, fell behind him.

But when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder Laurent whipped around, ready to attack.

“Laurent! Sorry. It’s me. I was calling your name,” said Damen. He had skidded back several paces and thrown his hands up in front of him.

“Earphones.” Laurent pointed to his headphones. Real smooth.

“That’s why — shit.” Damen dashed back the way he came.

Laurent should have just continued on his run.

But he followed.

“Did you abandon your baby to chase me?” Laurent asked, amused, when he caught up with him. Theo was alone, thankfully strapped into his stroller, beneath a thick oak tree.

Damen looked thoroughly ashamed. “I didn’t think you’d run so fast.”

“You could have ran with the stroller.”

“We were already in the grass.”

“Yikes.” Laurent ruffled Theo’s silky blond hair. “You’re lucky Kashel’s CPS friends didn’t come along.”

“Hey, they’re my friends too. Kind of. And they have more to do in this town than worry about…”

“Child abandonment.”

“Don’t tell Jokaste.”

“Why do you keep assuming I’ll tell your … Jokaste everything?”

“Mama?” said Theo.

“Jokaste is my ex-girlfriend,” Damen said. “You’re both lawyers with blond hair and the potential to be terrifying. I dunno. I thought there might be a club.”

“There is. I just stopped here to get Theo early membership.” Laurent couldn’t get over how easy it was to fall into conversation with Damen. He might have some awkward moments internally but Laurent was generally a good conversationalist and a better actor. But Damen was…ridiculously attractive and Laurent was not exactly a champion dater. “Do you want to grow up to be terrifying, Theo?”

“Like Mama?”

“I’m gonna have to start watching what I say around him soon,” Damen said, as he unstrapped Theo from the stroller. “He’s advanced. And Jokaste could well have his stroller bugged. I mean, the nanny cam isn’t just so she can feel close to him during the day.”

Laurent leaned down towards the empty stroller. “Jokaste, if you’re listening, I want you to know Damen abandoned your child to chase a cute —”

“Puppy!” Theo was pointing at a rather ugly dog across the field.

Damen immediately scooped the kid up from the leaves. “That dog should be on a lead.” He was right. It was against city bylaws to have your dog unleashed in a public park. “I had to take Theo out of the playground because of the bigger kids and now I can’t even let him play in the leaves.”

“You know, any dog or person could have done damage while you chased me down.”

“It was like ten feet. I was still watching!” Damen’s skin was darkening with embarrassment.

“I’ll take care of it.” Laurent did like to tell people what to do. “Hey! You with the mutt.” He marched across the grass. Thankfully, he wasn’t scared of dogs. He liked them, mostly.

“Are you talking to me?” The dog owner replied. “I’ll have you know Govart is a thoroughbred.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Laurent said. “Who has worked extensively with the city council and I will have you know you are breaking several laws by having that dog unleashed in a public park. Please see amendment 12b and 17c of the the charter, if you don’t believe me. Or read the signs posted everywhere. The maximum penalty is over two thousand dollars or a custodial sentence. There’s also the risk of getting animal services involved and the legal liability if he…”

“All right.” The owner was holding the dog by the collar now. “Last I checked this was a free country.”

“I’m free to report you to the warden.” Laurent pretended to look at the dog’s collar for the owner’s details.

“Let’s go Govart.” The man left, with the dog on a lead.

Damen was looking at Laurent like he was his new hero. “I normally just glare and flex my muscles,” he said.

“That would work too.” Laurent’s run was all messed up now. But he didn’t mind. It was nice to feel useful. And Theo looked pretty cute making piles out of the fallen leaves. Laurent decided to crouch down to help the kid out. He was so little it was probably mean to leave him to do this himself. “”Like this,” he said, scooping a big pile and dropping them down around Theo’s head to make him laugh. “Will we do the same to your dad?”

“Don’t you dare,” Damen warned. Laurent laughed, watching Theo’s fascination at the noise the leaves made when he crunched them in his fat  
little fists. “How is work going?” Damen asked, over the top of his phone. “Did, um…with your boss?” Did it work?”

“I don’t know.” Laurent didn’t want to think about that now.

“Did you ask Auguste…”

“No. No. Not with the whole IVF thing and —”

“Right. Yeah. Sore point. I’ve got a happy accident on the ground there. I get the need for tact.”

“I ..” Laurent knew he should say this was wrong. There was, at the very least, a conflict of interest with him knowing Damen in any personal capacity after learning he was so closely entwined with Akielos and Sons.

“I thought I’d miss it more,” Damen continued. “Working full time.” As he spoke, he passed Theo a plastic bucket for him to gather his leaves in. “I’ve always worked. Ever since I was a kid. I thought…it was everything to me, you know? And it’s a bit isolating, sure, being home all the time. I nearly miss office politics. So feel free to shoot any gossip my way.”

“I couldn’t…” Laurent wondered where his talent at talking had gone. Damen seemed nice, sure, but that didn’t mean he was nice. His family were clearly ruthless in their pursuit of success. And Auguste vouching for him didn’t mean much. His brother’s instinct for deception was non-existent. Laurent’s mind was spinning out of control, a swan paddling away beneath the water, and he made himself be calm before he continued. After all, people like Damianos had connections. He could have seen that Laurent was a clueless first year associate who now owed him a favour. He could be fishing for information about a case. “Work stuff is confidential,” he said, coolly.

“I was thinking more along the lines of who’s banging who in the copy room.” Said with a certain glint in his eyes. Laurent didn’t think Damen was trying to be shocking. He wasn’t one of those people who made innuendos to make you uncomfortable. He was too comfortable in his own skin for that. “Hey, I was joking.”

“I know who you are,” Laurent said.

“Yeah, we met at your brother’s a few days ago. I know who you are, too, Laurent. When Auguste told me about you I was dying to —”

“What did he say about me?” Laurent’s voice turned to ice. It was his go-to defense against getting visibly upset. Laurent was here for a fresh start. The last thing he needed was his stupid (recent) past coming back to haunt him.

“Nothing.” Damen glanced at Theo, who was obliviously playing with a ball in the leaves.

“Did he tell you where my job is?”

“No…”

“I’m working at Patras and Patras,” Laurent said. “They’re the firm who —”

“Oh. Right. I know who they are.”

“It’s probably a conflict of interest or something for me to be talking to you.”

“You’re the lawyer,” Damen said, gently. “Shouldn’t you know that.”

“Shut up.” Laurent was smiling though. He didn’t know why the teasing didn’t bother him.

“Do you want to get pizza?”

“I just said —”

“Just to talk,” Damen said.

“What else would — never mind. I mean, they didn’t say anything at induction about this kind of thing. And I won’t tell you anything about the case.”

“Laurent,” Damen said. “I promise you I won’t ask.”

-

They made plans to meet back up at the pizza joint across from the park. It was near Laurent’s apartment. He could only assume Damen lived nearby, too. Laurent jogged home in a fog. He’d intended to cease communication with Damen and pray this case was settled as as possible so Torveld could go back to head office and no-one would know about his lie. Instead, he was about to go on the first social outing that didn’t involve his brother since he moved here.

Honestly, it was only the sadness of that statement that stopped him from canceling.

He figured it would take longer for Damen and Theo to get ready than it would him, so he didn’t rush too much changing into his third set of clothes for the day. He pushed back his hair and wondered what the fuck he was doing. When he made a plan and set goals with his therapist, well, none of this seemed like a faint possibility. He hadn’t had a session in a while, mainly because he wanted to be independent and also he couldn’t deal with the judgment if he revealed his lie.

“I can’t come over for Masterchef Junior tonight,” Laurent said down the phone to Auguste. It was dumb tradition of theirs. He’d never missed it before.

“Hello to you, too, brother. You’re on speaker. We’re driving back from the fostering course.Well, via …oh it’s a long story. ”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t make him crash the car,” Kashel called. “You never apologise.”

“I definitely remember saying sorry the time I ate your last slice of lemon meringue pie.”

“You said you’d buy me a new one.”

“Same thing.” Laurent felt more relaxed just by having this normal conversation with them. “So, yeah, no visit from me.”

“Is work OK?” Auguste asked.

“I’m at home.”

“Is it going all right? Are you exhausted? Hey, did you bring lunch or —”

“Oh my God, give the boy a break,” Kashel interrupted. “So if it’s not work then why are you bailing.”

Laurent didn’t have to tell them. He was an independent adult entitled to privacy. It was none of their business. Telling them about meeting up with Damen and Theo again was pointless because it didn’t mean anything. They were going to talk about how this was stupid and they couldn’t be friends and just because Damen might be bi and he was the first person in forever that Laurent had found attractive didn’t mean anything at all.

“I’m meeting Damen for pizza,” Laurent blurted out. Silence. “Are you there? Hello?”

“Don’t hang up,” said Auguste.

“He definitely nearly crashed that time,” Kashel said.

“Let me be clear,” Laurent said. “It’s not a date. He’s bringing Theo.”

“That makes it even more special,” said Kashel.

“Yeah, I’m gonna let that slide because your personal circumstances,” Laurent replied. “Auguste…are you there?”

“He’s a good guy,” Auguste said, finally. “Don’t…don’t be mean to him.”

“You’re warning me, your little brother, to be nice to a dude who could crush me with his bare hands.”

“He means be open minded,” Kashel said. “Damen is nice.”

“Kashel said out of all our friends he would be the one she’d ask to donate sperm if that was our fertility issue. It wasn’t though,” Auguste said.  
“So no need for that awkwardness.”

“What’s wrong with my sperm?” Laurent said. “We’re brothers.”

“You’re not meant to think about a family member’s sperm.”

“Yeah. I know that,” Laurent snapped.

“I didn’t…”

“Don’t crash the car.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Sorr—” Kashel’s voice was cut off when Laurent hung up. He was going to be late now. Great.

-

  
The pizza place was nicer than Laurent had gathered from running passed the outside. He’d expected the kind of joint where little league teams go after practice. But it was more the kind of place where workers in the nearby bank grabbed a bit on their way home and groups of wine moms gathered in packs. It was the kind of place that pulled of candles melting in wine bottles and fairy light trellises without seeming kitsch. Laurent spotted Damen in a corner. He was sitting with his back to the room. Laurent would never do that. Damen was also breaking breadsticks onto Theo’s highchair tray. The wine moms were practically swooning.

“Hey,” Laurent said. “Sorry I’m late. Auguste caught me on the phone.”

“He called me too.”

“Great. He still thinks I’m thirteen half the time,” Laurent said “You better not do that to this munchkin.” He booped Theo on the nose, and the kid laughed. Damen was looking at him with a strange expression. “What?”

“You two are so close.”

“My parents died when I was pretty young and…it’s not weird. I am a functioning….”

“I have a brother, too. It’s nice that you’re close,” Damen said. Right. The reason they were here - to talk about Kastor, who Laurent was trying to tear apart. “And sorry about the extra guest, by the way. Jokaste is stuck in the office.”

Damen wasn’t going to bring him?

“Not a problem.” Laurent liked Theo. He liked having a third person, even if it was baby, there to act as a buffer. They ordered drinks and it was time to talk about the case. Well, not specifics but the fact that it existed between them. “What’s good here?” Laurent asked and Damen gave him a run down of the menu. “Eat here a lot?” Smiling.

“I’m not much of a cook. But I can tell you Theo loves the kids pasta with plain marinara sauce.” Damen was smiling, too.”I never thought I’d be rating restaurants on how well a toddler likes their food,” he said.

“My palate is a little more refined than that,” Laurent said.

“Naturally.”

Pizza was awfully indulgent for a random mid-week meal. Laurent had planned to have steamed salmon and veggies before Damen invited him here. But then Damen suggested they share a pizza and two salads and Laurent was so charmed by the idea, he agreed. He let Damen order, which wasn’t something that would normally make him bristle. But this wasn’t a date.

“About the case…” Damen said. “Or the company, rather. I want to explain some things.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“It’s good for me to talk about this stuff. Apparently, I don’t deal with feelings well and I’m trying to work on that.”

Laurent’s pulse sped up a little. He picked up one of Theo’s toy cars and spun the wheels over his hand. “You take advice like that?”

He’d been told the same by various professionals over the years. _You can’t carry everything alone. You’re not weak for caring about people. You weren’t wrong to trust him._

The idea that Damen might have similar experiences, some sense of understanding, was intriguing.

“Not usually. But after…everything that#s happened my oldest friend Nik took me aside and told me some home truths.”

“Right.”

“I’m not part of the company,” Damen said. “Not in any way. And I didn’t step back to avoid a legal issue. Well, not the legal issue that concerns you. After my father died, my brother forced me out. That’s the truth of it. I didn’t see until it was too late that he had been planning for years to oust me.”

“Surely…”

“There’s a case, there. Yeah, probably. Jokaste nearly initiated proceedings without my go ahead,” Damen said, with a rueful little smile. Theo’s food was delivered and Damen’s attention was on helping him eat. “Kastor’s still my brother. I don’t want to sue him.”

“But it’s your legacy.”

Damen shrugged. “Not really. The company I wanted it to be doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t want to be part of something that walks all over people who can’t defend themselves. My father’s vision was to expand, not to destroy. Or at least that’s how I saw it.”

Admirable. It also seemed sincere. Laurent had wasn’t trusting but he had a good eye for reading people. Nothing about Damen’s demeanour seemed false.

“Do you miss it?”

Damen looked up, and he was smiling again.

“What?” Laurent asked. The question did not deserve a smile.

“Most people ask me what I am working on next. Or if I got a payout big enough to not to have to work. Or why on earth someone like me is at home with a child.”

“I’ve gotten enough uncomfortable questions in my life to know when to avoid them.”

“I don’t miss it,” Damen said. “I like looking after Theo. I never envisioned it but here I am. Why should Jokaste be the only to make sacrifices and after he got sick -”

“Is he all right?” The thought of this innocent kid, who was currently smearing tomato sauces all over his chubby cheeks, being unwell was terrible.

“Yeah. Yeah. He contracted meningitis when he was ten months old. He was with a nanny. It wasn’t their fault. But …after that, neither Jokaste nor I were comfortable leaving him with anyone else.”

“I’m glad you recovered, kiddo,” Laurent said to Theo.

Theo splattered some more sauce.

“So that’s it,” Damen said. “That’s my story. I am not your opponent. I’m just a stay at home Dad. Well, I still work freelance. I’m planning a refurbishment of this insane Bauhaus inspired home out near the cliffs. The owners want to retain the features but make everything energy efficient.”

“Cool,” said Laurent. Everything he knew about architecture was based on history and art. He’d never really considered real world implementation.

“They’re importing windows from Norway,” Damen continued. “So there’s a delay. In the meantime, I’ve tendered for this other project building a new care home on the grounds of the old hospital. And I’ve got the land in — sorry, I get carried away.”

“No. It’s nice to see someone passionate about their work.”

The food arrived, which gave Laurent time to get over his use of the word passionate. The food was good, which shouldn’t have surprised him but it did.

“You’re not passionate about being a lawyer?”

“Not yet,” Laurent admitted. “I was before. I will be again.”

“You’ll get the right job soon enough.”

“I just have to make sure I don’t lose this one for lying first.”

“When you put it like that…” Damen seemed ethical. He was probably secretly judging Laurent’s stupid decision. He was probably only indulging him out of pity or boredom or — “It’s pretty fucking daring that you take this risk to get what you want.”

“Ducky?” Theo piped up.

Damen pulled the universal _yeesh_ face. “I have to stop swearing,” he said to Laurent. “The duckies live in the lake, buddy. We’ll feed them tomorrow.” To Theo. Obviously. “Don’t tell Jo. She thinks I’ll let him drown. I swear, she tries to control everything from afar.”

“Do you two get on?”

Damen shrugged. “Yes? No? We respect each other now and we co-parent pretty well but the Kastor thing —”

“Fuck.” Laurent interrupted.

“Duck!”

“Come on.”

“My boss just walked in,” Laurent said. “Don’t turn around, Damen. He might recognise you.” Shit. This was it. Torveld would spot Damianos and figure out Laurent’s lie and he’d be fired and he’d never get another job in this town. Shit, Torveld could think he was a mole all along. He was screwed.

Several indecipherable looks passed across Damen’s face before Laurent was treated to the sight off all six foot something of him slink down, slide off his chair, and do his best to hide behind the busboy as he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Dada?” Theo said.

Laurent fed him some pasta, hoping he’d stay quiet while Torveld spotted him and made his way over.

“Laurent! Glad to see you making the most of the evening,” Torveld said. “These big cases are always a strain. Why, I haven’t been home in weeks. Oh, isn’t he just darling? He looks just like you.”

“Dada?” Theo was looking around.

Laurent pretended his fork was a plane to get more food into his mouth. He wasn’t cruel. He gave Theo water too.

“He’s a handful,” Laurent said. “Speaking of which, any more incidences with your neighbour from hell?”

“Well, no-one delivers to the complex any more so I have to pick up this food myself,” Torveld replied. “Did I tell you about the laundry room?”

“No.”

“Tomorrow then. I shouldn’t interrupt your meal.” He patted Theo on the head. “It’s nice to see you outside the office,” Torveld added. “You seem much more at ease.”

“Have a good night.” Laurent didn’t quite know what else to say. Or how he ended up feeding Theo the rest of his pasta while Damen stayed out of sight until Torveld’s food was ready. Theo blinked his big eyes and looked up at Laurent every time he opened his mouth for another bite. Words like unsettling and un-nerving came to Laurent’s mind, but they weren’t quite right. But it was new, to have someone so vulnerable in his care. Kids were so breakable. It was hard for them. He thought again about Auguste and Kashel’s struggles and how unfair that two people with so much love to give couldn’t have a child to share it with.

“All right?” Damen asked, when he returned.

“Your half of the pizza might be cold.”

“Your boss?”

“He thinks Theo looks like me.”

“Was he glaring like that when he said it?” Damen was smiling again. Theo was showing signs of being done with being in this restaurant situation.

“No.” Laurent took a sip of his water. “It’s all kinds of unethical what I’m doing.”

“You’ve had a rough time of it.”

“What?” Sharp.

“Auguste said…” Damen was cut off when Theo started to whine. “I should get this to go and bring him home. It’s way past his bedtime.”

“What did Auguste say?”

“We’re friends. When he left the army, he and I would hang out all the time. We talk. He knows everything about me leaving the company and Jokaste if you had asked.”

“I see. And in exchange he tells you all about his poor messed-up younger brother? Auguste still feels guilty about leaving —”

“No. What? He told me you had an accident after qualifying and you couldn’t practice right away. I knew this job was important. That’s all. Believe me, I wouldn’t normally play along with anything like this.” Damen was taking Theo from the chair and consoling him while he spoke.

Laurent made himself breathe. “Thank you for playing along,” he said. “Don’t worry. I won’t bother you again.”

“It’s not a bother.” Damen popped a pacifier into Theo’s mouth. “Don’t tell Jokaste I gave him that. Laurent, it’s really not a bother.”

“Still, the case. What if someone sees me hanging out with you?”

“I didn’t leave the table just to play along with your ruse.” Damen squared his shoulders and looked Laurent square in the eye. “You’re probably just doing research on this case, right?” Laurent nodded. “Kastor spent a lot of time with one of the councilors. Guion.”

“And?”

“That’s it,” Damen said, then he focused his attention back on Theo.

-  
Laurent could be impulsive. He did reckless things when he was younger and he still had to resist the urge to plough into situations without thinking them through. So he refrained from calling up Auguste and berating him for spilling his secrets to Damen. Auguste was allowed to have friends that had nothing to do with him. Laurent didn’t want to be weird about their relationship. They were brothers, not joined at the hip.

  
And Auguste had always been considerate. He probably had just given Damen bare bones details. The only problem was that the abridged account made Laurent look less … capable than he knew himself to be. Strip it back to facts and you’ve got a totaled car, two separate stints in a mental health facility and zero work experience despite having passed the bar two years ago.

It made him look a mess. The realities, the tiny little nuances, made all the difference. People connected the dots and came up with half a picture.

The real, entire story was private.

He didn’t berate Auguste. He didn’t answer his calls either.

Laurent focused on his work. He was careful and he didn’t expect any magic solutions. But when he was going through the documents, he took notice of that Guion’s name. He noticed it came up a lot. This could be good for the case. It could be better for Laurent’s career.

“Hey,” he said, after twelve hours of research. “I think I’ve got something here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for all your comment/kudos/good vibes. hope you liked this chapter! find me on twitter @ruby__wednesday if you wanna be fandom friends!


	4. Chapter 4

Damen kept sending him snaps and random messages. Laurent kept replying. When he opened a video of Theo finger-painting, instead of hoping Torveld would notice Laurent muted the sound. Torveld was very fond of Laurent right now, because the Guion link was a massive boost to their cause. They all knew Kastor was crooked but if they could find evidence he was bribing local councillors, who had say in planning applications, that was whole other dimension to the case. Laurent was determined to be the best new employee this firm would ever see. He would dazzle them with his lawyer skills and if anyone didn’t like that, he would scare them into submission.

He’d be so good Torveld wouldn’t think about his personal life. He’d crack the case and Torveld would go home and no-one would ever know about the fake baby he made up.

Simple.

Laurent had no reason to see Damen again. Not intentionally. Maybe through Auguste or if he bumped into him on the street. But the case made it risky for either of them to be seen in public. Kastor’s people wouldn’t like Damen fraternizing with the enemy. And he didn’t want anyone to link Theo, either.

“What are you doing tonight?” Torveld asked Laurent, the following week.

“Dinner with my brother.” He had forgiven Auguste’s slight by now. He’d probably forgive his brother anything. And the empty house was still getting to Kashel and Auguste, so he was happy to provide them company.

“Can you cancel? I’d like for you to come to the plaintiff’s meeting with me,” Torveld said. “It’s not until nine, because most of them can’t get time off easily.”

“I’m better at the behind the scenes stuff.”

Jord snorted.

“What?”

“Come on, Laurent. You look like a lawyer from a big budget movie,” Jord said. “You walk into that meeting, you’re gonna give them all hope that this is a professional outfit.”

“Patras and Patras is a state renowned firm,” Torvel said.

“Yeah. For wills. This is the big leagues. You’re going up against Mathe and Meniados. They represented Pfizer last year. If Laurent walks in there with his Ivy League education and his custom suits, they’re going to feel good. You might finally get the retirees to join you. Judges love old people.”

“I’ll go,” Laurent said. “Before I’m objectified further.”

“Excellent,” said Torveld. “You can go early so, since you have to work tonight. I am sure you want to spend some time with your little boy.”  
-

So Laurent went for a run. It was that or fret in his apartment for the rest of the evening. He was coming up to the pond when he spotted a familiar shape just ahead. It took all of his considerable willpower not to turn back. Damen was going to think he was stalking him. Damen was going to see him all red-faced and sweaty. Damen might hear the embarassing pop music leaking out from his headphones.

They hadn’t parted badly and Damen’s messages had been bright spots in Laurent’s otherwise dull days. But seeing him in person was different.

Laurent kept running, until he came to a stop beside Damen and Theo.

“The signs say dogs should be on leashes, not children,” Laurent said. “That looks like a torture device.”

“What would you know about torture devices?” Damen’s was unfazed. The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

“Enough.”

“It’s only while we’re at the pond,” Damen said, as Laurent greeted Theo. “Safety first.”

“Ducks!” said Theo.

“Cursing in front of him again?” Laurent asked Damen.

“Duck you,” Damen said.

“What are you feeding them?” Laurent asked Theo.

“Duck food.”

“In my day, we used bread,” Laurent said.

“It’s bad for them. We use seeds and grains now,” Damen said. “It’s not nearly as fun. Also, it’s mostly the swans that come over.”

“I like swans.”

“They’re mean mother-duckers. I’m afraid one will bite Theo.” It was jarring to hear someone as strong as Damen say he was afraid of anything.

“Elegant and potentially mean,” Laurent echoed. “No wonder I like them.”

“How’s work?”

“Good. We made —”

“I don’t want to know about Kastor’s case.” Damen had crossed his own line by giving Laurent Guion’s name. When Laurent had broached the  
topic with Auguste, carefully, Auguste had said that despite everything Damen still tried to have a relationship with his brother. He had said it in a serious tone which made Laurent think there was maybe more to this than what he knew. But he was too proud to ask and to afraid that it would look like he actually cared.

“Right. Sorry. I’ve got to attend a meeting this evening with some of the plaintiffs,” Laurent said. “May I?” He scooped a handful of seeds and scattered them into the water for the birds. “It’s just to keep them informed, I think.”

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic.”

“I’m not a people person.”

“If you say so.” Damen helped Theo throw some more seeds. They kind of plopped into the water. “I was just thinking it’s a shame we didn’t meet while you were job hunting. We could have killed time together.”

“Or you could join a mommy and me group.”

“I’d rather wrestle a bear.”

“I — I’m free most evenings,” Laurent said.

“Maybe we could…”

“Duck!” Theo interrupted.

Laurent laughed. “You have my number.”

-  
That was the opposite of staying away from Damen. It was the opposite of focusing on his job and keeping his shit together. _One thing at a time,_ they said. Which sounded too much like the AA mantra for Laurent to take seriously. He wasn’t an addict. He was stone cold sober when the car crashed, thank you very much. There was never a question of him being charged with any crime. And he had the kind of mind that was better when doing several things at once. Like looking professional at Torveld’s meeting, and also keeping the room calm. A lot of the people who called Delfeur home were distrustful. A lot of them didn’t have a choice but to bring their kids along to the meeting.

“Can’t you do something?” Torveld asked. Right. He was meant to be good with kids. On account of having one of his own. So Laurent, who was ostensibly brought along for his refined appearance, wound up distracting a bunch of streetwise six year olds by coming up with games they could not win.

“That’s dumb,” announced one curly-haired boy who’d been lingering at the edges the whole time. “Any idiot baby could figure that shit out.”

“You’ve got five years on these kids. Of course you think it’s dumb.” Laurent found himself staring into a pair of bright blue eyes.

“I’m nearly thirteen.”

“Then you should know better,” Laurent replied. “Go sulk inside or stop making fun of the kids.”

“I’m not allowed inside. Can I have a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.” God, how did Auguste put up with pre-teens all the time? With patience and understanding. “You can help me give the kids the cookies if you want.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“All the leftover cookies.”

“I can buy my own cookies. I’m only helping you because I’m so bored I could die.”

“All right.”

“Are you even a lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to get us money? My Grandma’s old house wasn’t so bad. ” He was basically throwing cookies at the little kids. But they didn’t seem to mind. “I hate living…never mind.”

“We’re going to do our best to get you all what you deserve.”

“In that case, I want a Harley Davidson.”

"Well," said Laurent. "Right now, you might have to settle for leftover chocolate chip. You handed out all the oatmeal. Was that on purpose?"

The boy grinned.

-  
According to Torveld, the meeting was a success. Laurent didn’t have a framework for such declarations, but even with his lack of experience he could tell they were building a significant case against the company. The Guion stuff was tenuous but it was something. More people were coming forward. This could be a major win for them. And it was a win for the right side, people who were displaced and misinformed, and

Laurent could enjoy that as a moral victory while his shallow classmates were on partner tracks in ruthless city firms.

There was no point in being a screw up who caught up.

He wanted to be the screw up who took the high road. Even if it meant figuratively working his fingers to the bone in a basement room for a small time law firm. Baby steps. Little victories. It was important, they said, to take pride in minor achievements. H

So when Damen invited Laurent over for dinner, he said _fuck it why not?_  
Damen: _Calm down. I might start to think u r enthusiastic._  
Laurent : _*you’re_  
Damen : _I was starting to think you were nice, too._  
_I also have a child to take care of._  
_Paw Patrol is ruling my apartment._  
_I don’t have time to spell everything out_  
Laurent : _Yet you managed all that._  
Damen : _So what time can I expect you?_  
Laurent : _I’ll be there at eight._

-  
He had to cancel on Auguste again. But his brother didn’t seem too bothered.

“Laurent, stop apologizing. You’re allowed to have your own life,” Auguste said. He was driving again. Laurent was walking over to Damen’s place. It wasn’t far. “I’m only getting out of school now anyway.”

“Why so late?”

“One of my kids is having a rough time,” Auguste said. “It’s a mess.”

Laurent felt a twinge of guilt. His brother was so good. Their parents would be proud. He wondered if the same would ever be true of himself.

“Any news from the foster agency?”

“Nearly there,” Auguste said. “Listen —”

“Look —”They broke off at the same time with a chuckle. “Did you find it hard to adjust after being discharged?”

“Are you struggling?”

“No!” No more than usual. “Just…I should have been there for you more then. I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your job to notice.”

“You don’t have to look out for me anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, little brother. I made a promise to you the first time I held you that I'd always look after you.” Auguste could pour smiles into words, even when you couldn’t see him. “Yes, it was a struggle afterwards. I felt I had no purpose. I even felt I had made the wrong choice and I should have pursued a professional career like you. But I’m good now.”

“You spent time with Damen.”

“We’re both believers in the exercise is the best form of therapy principle.”

“I’m having dinner with him again tonight.”

“Really?” With a Tone, capital T in his voice.

“Shut up.”

“Just don’t tell him Kashel was sizing up his sperm,” Auguste said. “He’ll never visit us again.”

“Am I making a mistake?” Laurent heard the catch in his own voice.

“Aren’t you glad you’re taking a chance?”

  
-

Laurent knocked on Damen’s door at precisely eight o clock. Damen opened it with a towel thrown over his shoulder and a dollop of suds on his cheek.

“Shit,” he said.

“Hello to you, too.”

“Theo is still up,” Damen said.

“That’s fine.”

“Jokaste is still here. She comes down to put him to bed when she can.”

Shit.

“Should I come back?”

“No! No. Come into the kitchen. I’ll pour you wine. Oh, is that beer? Do you prefer beer? Is this the craft stuff Auguste likes? I really enjoyed it at the barbeque.”

“I brought it for you,” Laurent said. “But I’ll have wine, please.” He could see the bottle of red breathing on the counter. It looked good. And one glass would help him relax. Damen took the pack of beer and when he did, his fingers brushed Laurent’s. The skin was warm and Laurent’s skin reacted in kind. He knew enough about avoidance to know no touch was unintentional.

“Thanks for the beer,” Damen was saying, easily, pouring two glasses of wine.

“Thanks for the wine. And dinner,” Laurent said. He tried not to think about the fact that Damen’s baby and Damen’s ex were just down the hall. “Damen…we are having dinner, right?” Taking a look around the black gloss kitchen, Laurent couldn’t see a trace of cooking. All he could smell was baby powder. He remembered Damen saying he wasn’t much of a cook.

“Yep. I’ve got steaks right here.” He took a plate from the fridge. “Veggies prepped. Baked potatoes ready to be heated and loaded. Sound good?”

“Great.”  
They were smiling at each other. Laurent didn’t even like red meat that much but he was grinning like a kid at Christmas. He liked the warm taste of the wine on his tongue and the warm feeling of Damen’s gaze. He looked around the open plan apartment, silently taking in the raised kitchen and the big windows and the scattered toys around the squishy brown couch.

“Your place is very nice,” Laurent said.

“Thanks. I’d change so much if I could but, well, my father worked on this building and I could never dishonour his memory like that.” Damen grimaced and Laurent once again wanted to know everything about this man. “It’s dumb, I know.”

“Hey, I’m the only one allowed call you dumb.”

“You’re really not,” Damen said. But he didn’t look annoyed. “It’s not bad here at all. Lots of light. I’d give you the tour but…”

“But I’d spoil the mood.” Jokaste. She sauntered through the living room as if she owned the place. For a moment, Laurent had the urge to flee.  
Only a moment. It was not his nature to be intimidated easily.

“You? Never,” said Damen.

“Catch,” said Jokaste, just a second after she hurled a dirty diaper in Damen’s direction. Opportunity. Laurent intercepted the throw with one hand and dropped the bag cleanly in the trash can.

Damen looked impressed. Jokaste’s expression never once changed.

Laurent used to play catch a lot with Auguste when they were younger.

“Is he asleep?” Damen asked. Right. The baby.

“Just dropping off,” Jokaste said, as Damen fiddled with a baby monitor. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“I’m Laurent.” He could introduce himself. “You must be Jokaste.”

Her handshake was firm. Up close, her looks were even more obvious. Laurent had no taste for women but you’d have to blind not to see that Jokaste was beautiful. If he was flicking through a magazine and saw her in an ad for Dior perfume, he’d nod and think _yep, that works._ Even now in well-cut work clothes, she radiated refinement. She was tall and her blue eyes could look directly into his. It was with some measure of satisfaction he noted they weren’t nearly as bright.

“You must be my replacement,” she said.

“Be nice, Jokaste.” Damen emerged from behind the counter where he had been watching the exchange with a strange expression.

"It's like he doesn't know me at all," she said to Laurent.

"It's like you don't know if something hurts you, you don't replace it. You upgrade, darling," Laurent said.

She regarded Laurent. He stared her down until she turned her attention back to Damen.

"I suppose you could have chosen worse," she said.

Hopefully, that would put an end to this strange meeting.

“Wait,” she said, and her face took on a new expression. Like she was finding this funny. “Laurent. I know who you are.”

No such luck.

“We were just introduced," he said.

Jokaste positively sneered. “I mean I’ve heard of you. My friend Kyra was in your law school class.”

“There were dozens of people in that class.”

“You had the highest grades in a top tier law school. Your pick of killer internships and a bad reputation.”

“What kind of reputation?” Damen asked.

“None of your business.” Laurent was quite sure Damen’s mind went to a different place than his with his question.

“Kyra said, this Laurent guy is like you but male. You’d either eat each other alive or take over the world.”

“Jesus, Jokaste. I just met him. Don’t ruin him for me.”

“What I want to know is what happened? I had a baby. What’s your excuse for winding up here?” Jokaste’s tone was neither accusatory nor insulting. She regarded him the same way a scientist looks down a microscope.

“Well,” said Laurent. “It seems annoying you is a pleasant side effect. It would be worth it for that.”

“He works for Patras and Patras.”

“The firm who are currently bringing a class action suit against your family’s business… oh, Damen. I thought you’d wised up.”

Laurent could see that Damen was trying to defend him by bringing up his job. And that Jokaste had hurt him by mention the case.

“That’s enough,” Laurent said, in a tone he hadn’t had to dredge up for a while. It was perhaps the tone that made all his law school classmates keep their distance. “Jokaste, dear, your concern is touching but unnecessary in this case. I am but a lowly first year associate and there is no conflict of interest.” She opened her mouth but Laurent continued before she could speak. “Damen and I are here to have dinner, not to receive an interrogation. Now, unless you two have parenting matters to attend to I suggest you leave.”

Jokaste narrowed her eyes. Laurent did not break eye contact.

“See you tomorrow, Damen.” She clipped out in her mid-heeled Louboutins, which if Laurent felt like being catty, were a little bit passe these days.

“Well, that went better than I expected.” Damen was smiling, like all the tension had left his body. He held the baby monitor up to his ear, and smiled again. “I know by his breathing when he nods off. So…steak? Let me guess, you eat it rare.”

“The only way to enjoy it,” Laurent replied.

“All right, Hannibal Lecter. Don’t make it creepy.”

Laurent perched on one of the bar stools while Damen prepared the food. He could cook well enough himself. It was necessary skill and as far as he was concerned, there was nothing cute or funny about grown ass adults who couldn’t keep themselves fed. Thankfully, Damen seemed reasonably capable. It was actually kind of cool to watch him handle a knife. Laurent kept that to himself. No more being creepy.

“I’m sorry she was…difficult,” Damen said.

“It’s fine. Really. I admire prickly people. They’re usually honest.”

“That stuff she said about your school — I knew you were smart but I had no idea you had so much -”

“Wasted potential.”

“Or lost opportunity?”

“If you choose to abandon something,” Laurent said. “You call it thrown away, not lost.”

Auguste had told Damen the outline of his delay in entering the workforce. Had Laurent filled in the blanks? It wasn’t something he liked to speak about. No-one liked examining the darkest parts of themselves. He wanted to impress Damen, not scare him off. Then again, maybe it was better to get it all out in the open now. If Damen was the kind of person who would bolt a bit of murky history, then it was better for Laurent to know before he got attached. In his experience, there were very few people willing to stick around through bad stuff.

The thing was, he didn’t know where to start. It was like wanting to drill a hole in a wall and breaking the whole thing down. Laurent was private. That would never change. He also refused to be solely characterized by the circumstances of his youth. In college, there was one student who had come to this country as a refugee. She was clever and talented and still at least once a day someone would quantify her abilities in relation to her background. In law school, he remembered hearing someone say their professor was really well-spoken for a black guy,

Laurent didn’t want anyone, but especially Damen, to look at him and think : _Well, he’s doing all right for a CSA survivor,_ and not see the rest of him - messy and warm and smart and just waiting to be a regular person again. They had said to him, before, that yes he had some behavioral patterns that he needed to recognise and break where possible. Yes, his anger and distrust and fear of betrayal and the self-esteem issues that popped up at the worst times could of course have roots in that awful time in his uncle’s care.

But he was still him — a whole person with that as just one part. No-one could know for sure what caused his post-law school breakdown. What mattered more was healing himself and learning so that didn’t happen again.

In college, he had taken a creative writing class. He always liked books, so it seemed like a good fit. The teacher had told them - start was close to the end as possible. He was ready to do that with Damen, when Damen broke the silence.

“I’m not proud of the way I am around her,” he said. “Jokaste just makes me… edgy. It’s wrong. We do a good job co-parenting Theo but sometimes I look at her and it feels like she’s got chains around my neck.”

“I —”

But Damen was on a roll. He didn’t look up from the cooker but he continued to speak. “I don’t want you to think I’m disrespectful. I wouldn’t normally…it’s still hard to be around her.”

 _Anger comes from hurt_. That’s another thing they said at the centre. Sometimes Laurent resented Auguste for joining the military. Sometimes he hated his parents for dying. Because those things hurt him when he was a little more than a child and he’d never quite thought it was all right to feel like that. They told him to write letters that he would never send. Laurent rolled his eyes and wrote an essay instead.

“She hurt you.” Laurent thought it was important to acknowledge that.

“She was sleeping with my brother behind my back,” Damen said. “My father was sick. I was a mess. And Jokaste and Kastor were fucking in the downstairs bathroom.”

“Well,” said Laurent. “It’s a wonder you can stand to be in the same room of either of them.”

“If it wasn’t for Theo…”

“Yeah. I understand.”

“She didn’t know which of us was the father when she found out she got pregnant. That was fun. Some days, I hoped it was Kastor and I could be free of the mess. My father was sick. Other days, I hoped it was me.”

“You took a test?”

“Of course,” Damen said, as he turned the steaks. “I’m not that noble. I had to know. My father was sick and … it brings up a lot of things, you know? I wasn’t always a good boyfriend. Jokaste wanted more than I could give her. Kastor was…I think she was hedging her bets. He liked her.  
Any man would.”

Laurent let out a pointed cough.

“Any man with heterosexual tendencies,” Damen amended. “Kastor also wanted to get one over on me. Then he…Look, I say shit about Jokaste. And she’s kind of awful to be honest. But I’m not…I want you to know it’s not me. I mean, it is me. But I don’t normally harbour bad feeling like that.”

“I know,” said Laurent. He had a good sense of people, even if he tended to look on the bleak side a lot of the time. And Auguste liked and trusted Damen. His brother might be naive sometimes but his opinion meant more to Laurent than anyone else in the world. He didn’t mean for it to be so serious but Damen turned towards him with something painfully appreciative in those warm brown eye that made it impossible for Laurent to look anywhere else.

“There was a video,” Damen said.

“I didn’t think they still made VHS.”

“I’m trying to open up to you, Laurent.”

“Sorry.”

“Jokaste and Kastor. There was a video. A sex tape.”

“I cannot think of anything more unappealing,” Laurent said. At least that made Damen momentarily smile.

“Kastor showed it to me.”

“I stand corrected.”

Damen twisted the dishcloth in his hand. “I kind of lost it with Kastor. I’m not the best at keeping my temper in check. That’s how he got control of the company so easily. It was go quietly or have him press charges. Jokaste wouldn’t bring Theo to visit me in jail. I was so scared I’d lose him, too — God, this sounds awful. You probably think I’m a thug.”

“I don’t,” Laurent said, automatically. Yes, he was more a fan of using words than fists but that didn’t mean he saw no place in the world for a little well timed violence. “I did say I’ve been in my fair share of fights. As long as they’re fair.”

“Kastor can fight,” Damen said, flatly.

“You have money, connections, extenuating circumstances. You could have fought the charges.” Laurent was under no illusions about the fairness of their legal system. Men like Damen would always luck out.

Grief does funny things to people,” Damen said. “I didn’t really deal with my father dying when it happened.”

There were so many things Laurent wanted to say. He understood. He cared. He was pretty imperfect himself so Damen need not act like this was  
shameful confession. It was nearly a comfort to know about this blip. Maybe now Laurent wouldn't feel like the only person struggling with adulthood and family and working -- all the things that were meant to be easy for people like them.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said.

“Me too. I mean, thanks. I mean, you don’t need to pity me I just —”

“Damen,” Laurent said.

“Yes?”

“The steak is going to burn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys! i am sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted.


	5. Chapter 5

Damen had forgotten to complete the mundane task of setting the table. So they ate side by side at the breakfast bar. The steak was tender and the salad was fresh and the baked potatoes dripping butter were the definition of old-fashioned comfort.

“This is delicious,” Laurent said.

“Are you just saying that?”

“No. Believe me, I’m not afraid to express my opinions.”

“Auguste said you were brutally honest when it came to critiquing food.”

“All because I told him his spaghetti was rubbery one time,” Laurent said. “Damen, it was mush. You wouldn’t give it to Theo if he had no teeth.”

“How do you cope with being a lawyer if your natural tendency is towards truth?”

“Badly. Wait, was that an lawyer joke? No, were you making fun of the lie that got me the job?”

“Genuine question.”

“I’m just getting started,” Laurent said. “I’ve always been told I had a keen sense of justice and fairness. Which is why I am here, instead of one of the many firms that recruited me out of law school. I want to be a public defender.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t been able to take up their offers even if he wanted to.

“I hear that’s tough.”

“I’m tough.”

Pointedly, Damen looked down at his own muscles and then across at Laurent’s leaner frame.

He didn’t mean anything by it but Laurent couldn’t resist rising to the bait. He fixed a cool glare on Damen and stared him down. For a long time.

“All right,” Damen said. “I won’t doubt you again.”

Satisfied, Laurent speared his meat with his fork and popped it into his mouth. Damen watched him like this was a most entertaining sight on earth. Blood rushed to Laurent’s cheeks. He wasn’t used to be looked at so fondly.

Earlier, Laurent had wanted to be upfront about his blip after law school. It was better to get things out in the open. It would be easier to end it now, if Damen was not the man Laurent hoped he was.

“You know I had some difficulties after law school,” he began.

“Yes, but…”

“But you’ve been so honest with me,” Laurent said. “And I have found that when you leave things to the imagination, people are inclined to think the worst. You know, because of Jokaste, the pressure of…of everything. My class was ultra competitive. Everyone was smart and they lived on caffeine and uppers. Since I dislike anything that removes control of my own body, I had to work even harder than usual. I don’t mind hard work. I like the distraction but…one day I crashed.”

“Things get too much sometimes." Damen was trying to be understanding.

“I crashed literally and figuratively,” Laurent said. “I had finished top of my class. Passed the bar. Had my pick of placements. Then one night, I was driving home and —” He clapped his hands together to indicate what had happened. Bang. Then, quiet. “My car flipped three times. Had there been anyone else on the road, it would have been carnage.” He breathed through the hazy memories of shattered glass and crunching metal. “I walked away with barely a scratch.”

“I can see how an experience like that would change your outlook.” Damen’s voice was neutral. He was giving him an out. Or else he could just relate to a simplistic version of events. After all, he’d made the decision to distance himself from his family business. It wasn’t a stretch to think  
Laurent would have reached some similar conclusion. A life without integrity was no life at all.

“I had a breakdown,” Laurent said. There was enough distance between then and now for him to say it matter-of-factly. “Kashel says that if I was a celebrity, they’d say I was sent to a facility to undergo treatment for exhaustion and in this rare case it would be true. I had a lot of … my mind was so tired. I needed a break.”

_Men, on average, take much longer than women to seek treatment._ They’d told him that at the centre.

That was the simple version of events. It didn’t include staying in bed for weeks and refusing to talk to his brother and checking himself out of the first treatment facility and going to their old house and tearing down the fence their uncle had built. It didn’t include drinking and self-medicating, sleeping for days and insomnia. It didn’t include getting into fights he always lost and hating the whole world and himself most of all.

The second place - where they told Laurent he was a swan and helped him cope — was better. He liked the peace and the stables and God, to have all those lingering fears verified and vanquished. They came up with a plan - Laurent, Auguste and the various members of staff — so that he could feel better. It was simple. It was complicated.

Damen was nodding, thoughtfully, and Laurent liked that he hadn’t put down his knife and fork. He wasn’t making a big deal out of this.

“Do you have a diagnosis?” he asked.

Laurent shook his head. “It wasn’t like that.” It wasn’t that kind of place. The first place, a doctor with hairs in his ears, had bandied about phrases that made Laurent’s skin crawl. So many acronyms for him to understand. The nurses confiscated his medical books. In the second place, with the horse and the lake, it had been better. They respected Laurent’s solitary nature. They let him work out his anger and never called him damaged. They helped him see the things that were reasonable, the things that were wrong, and the best ways to cope with his own mind.  
The point of all of that was so he could reach this point which books called ‘renormalisation’ and the centre called living.

Laurent wanted to live.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with —” Damen hastily added.

“I know,” he said.

“I’d just like to know if there was anything I should know.”

“Thanks,” said Laurent. “But, no. I’m not on any meds. You don’t need to watch for signs of me slipping. Believe me, my brother does that enough anyway.” He took a sip of water. “So, that’s why I was in such a panic about getting a job. After two years without practicing, your license lapses. I’d have to study and take the test again and —”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I had to show my boss pictures of your son and pretend he was mine! That’s your blood, Damen. I kinda do need to explain.”

Damen laughed. It was a warm, soothing sound and then Laurent was laughing a little too.

“We’ve come on pretty heavy for a first date.” Damen was shaking his head.

“Is this a date?” In the back of his mind, Laurent had been wondering if this was just Damen being nice because he was Auguste’s younger brother and he didn’t really know many people. A pity thing. A friend thing. People like Damen had lots of friends. Just because he was into men too didn’t mean he would necessarily be into Laurent. In his life, Laurent had been on the receiving end of countless compliments and come-ons.

Damen, so far, hadn’t said he was attractive or offered any suggestive remarks.

“I know you like to be in control,” Damen said. “So I’ll let you decide.”

Laurent looked at Damen out the side of his eyes. “I’ll let you know then,” he said, “When I’ve decided.”

-  
He’d never been much of a dater. The whole thing seemed contrived, superficial and unbearably shallow. He’d read that things were done differently in other places. In some cultures, group outings were the norm. Supervised dates. Or you just kept having drunken hook-ups until one day you were committed. That might be easier than dinner and drinks, checks and balances, meeting the families and assessing another person as if they were a bio on a page instead of a living, breathing human being.

Anyway, in Laurent’s mind dates were meant to be loaded, tense things. Dinner, drinks, a show, whatever. It was all about meeting expectations and showing off. He never thought it would be watching Damen hunched over his breakfast bar picking the last of the meat off the bone. He never thought he’d find it endearing. When Damen put on music on his phone, it was a playlist called ‘current faves’ and there was nothing calculated about bouncing between Neil Young, Drake and Solange Knowles.

“That’s not current,” Laurent said. He was scraping plates while Damen wiped the counters.

“You’re kidding,” Damen dead-panned. “The young fellow in the cassette store told me it was all the rage.”

“Hilarious.” Trying not to sound as charmed as he felt.

“Current implies they are songs I like right now, not songs that are released right now,” Damen said. “Tell me, was your current favourite book published this year? If your favourite movie in theatres right now?”

“Point taken.”

“No, tell me. I want to know,” Damen said. Laurent sorted the silverware into the dishwasher. He could feel Damen’s eyes on him. Maybe it was weird to keep all them separate. “Thanks for facing them downwards. People say they don’t wash as well but it’s safer.”

“For Theo.”

“For Theo.”

If Laurent strained his ears, he’d hear Theo sleeping soundly through the baby monitor.

“I used to watch Dr.Zhivago with my mother when she was sick,” Laurent said. “Auguste and our father used to watch The Great Escape. I do like old movies.”

“Maybe you can educate me. We were a Die Hard household.”

“Shocking.”

Laurent’s voice was dry, but inside he was still a little shocked at how much he was enjoying this domesticity with Damen. It felt daring to have shared so much of himself. It was new to not want to flee. Damen made strong coffee and didn’t pry when Laurent declined a second glass of wine. They retreated to a squishy sofa, which Damen had to clear of several noisy toys before they could sit.

“I wanted to join the army, you know,” Damen announced. “My father talked me out of it. Making him proud was the most important thing for me. When I told him, I thought it would but he said he’d already lost his wife and he didn’t want to lose a son. But part of me thinks it wasn’t elite enough for him.”

“My father was so proud of Auguste when he enlisted. I was devastated.”

“I like being an architect. I liked some of the projects I worked on with my father’s company,” Damen said. “You know Kastor basically forced me out? You’re lucky to have a brother like Auguste. Where was I? Yeah…I used to think the army would have given me purpose. But when I look at Theo, I think I’ve found the same thing.”

“That’s nice.”

“Oh,God. I sounded like a fool.”

“No. I’m not being a patronising. It is nice. All of it. I don’t think I’ll ever have children. And you know about Auguste and Kashel’s problems. My line ends with me.”

“What a shame.”

“I know. I once got approached by a white supremacist who wanted me to repopulate the Aryan race.”

Damen laughed. Which was good, because jokes about neo-nazis were risky. But also because this was A Lot. Laurent had revealed more about himself to Damen in a few days than he had to anyone, well, ever. Damen had been just as forthcoming. Maybe he was always like this, but Laurent was not used to this revealing himself. Again, Damen reminded him of Auguste. Naive was too simple a term. It was like they couldn’t fathom being awful, and forgot that the rest of the world thrived on awfulness. Laurent already had so many things he could fling at Damen in a fight, things that would hurt him if he did, and Damen still shared them as if was the most natural thing in the world.

“How can you forgive them?” Laurent asked. “Your brother and Jokaste.”

So much for light.

He knew all the platitudes - you forgive for yourself not the person who hurt you. Holding a grudge is like drinking poison and expecting someone else to feel the effects.

But when you have nothing else to hold on to, there’s hatred. Sometimes, despite the treatment and the knowledge and the breakthroughs and hard won freedom, Laurent still found that the only thing spurring him on were the final embers of disgust for their uncle. Laurent would be successful. He would make good choices. He’d have a career that would make his brother proud.

He’d never hurt a child.

“Who says I did?” Damen offered a small smile. “But I have to live with what they did. I have to make my peace. Jokaste thinks I should sue Kastor, but that’s really because she’s worried about Theo’s inheritance. Kastor thinks I’m weak for staying at home with Theo. Nikandros wants to personally investigate every transaction Kastor has ever made and follow Jokaste on every drive she makes until he finds something he can arrest them for. He tends to forget that I …I beat him up. My brother. I got so angry that I left him in a bloody pulp on the floor. It was what he wanted, I realised too late.”

“Leverage to get you out of the company,” Laurent said. “You leave quietly. He won’t press charges and take you away from your son.” Clever. From the work at the firm, Laurent never would have thought Kastor was that smart.

“Kinda limits my potential for revenge.”

“None of that would make you happy.”

“Nope.” It was like Damen had just spoken about the weather. “Do you know what would make me happy?”

“World peace?”

“Doughnuts. I’ve ordered some from this amazing place near soft play that makes them fresh. The guy’s gonna call me when he’s in the lobby.”

“They won’t bring them to the door?”

“I had to call in several favours to make this happen

“Really?” Laurent was smiling. He liked the idea of Damen going out of his way to do something “I like doughnuts.”

“Good.” Damen smiled, too. “I had a mini panic earlier thinking you’d be on a restricted diet. I was going to text Auguste but I didn’t think that would go down well with you. Then, I thought he might give me some kind of awkward big bro talk.”

“Wise move.”

“So I asked Kashel instead. She was strange. She asked if you had told me something about her.”

“I was sworn to secrecy.”

“Come on.” Damen’s eyes were sparkling

“Nope. I am loyal to my family.”

The timbre of Damen’s smile changed. There wasn’t much left of his family but Theo. Laurent ached to reassure him but the words wouldn’t come.

“A good trait,” Damen said, lightly.

“I am loyal to my brother because he’s a truly good person. You know that. And Kashel’s his wife so…”

“A package deal. Like me and Theo.”

“But I don’t trust blindly. I have learned the hard way that family can’t always be counted upon. And I am still learning to trust other people.”

“If you trust me will you tell me about Kashel.”

“Maybe.”

Damen’s phone buzzed. “Doughnuts! I’ll be right back.” He grabbed something from the kitchen and left Laurent alone in his apartment. Well, not quite alone. Theo was there, too. Practically speaking, it wasn’t the wisest move. Damen barely knew him and he had left him alone with the child. Laurent hoped this wasn’t something he did regularly. They had been sitting quite comfortable on the couch, nestled among the cosy cushions.

Now, Laurent sat up straight. He looked at his phone for something to do.

He was scrolling snap stories when he heart the pad of soft footsteps at the entryway.

Damen did not walk like that.

“Mama?” Theo asked, in a voice on the verge of crying. He was clutching a blanket covered in yellow ducks.

“Hello,” said Laurent. Shit. That was not how you talked to a kid. “Theo, it’s OK. Your dad will be back up in a second.”

“Dada? Mama?” The voice was trembling.

Shit.

Laurent found himself approaching the boy in a low crouch, as one might approach an animal in the wild.

“Hey,” he said, softly. “Don’t worry. Your dad will be back any second.”

Theo wailed.

He stood in his footie pyjames, bawling, fat tears rolling down chubby cheeks. Only a monster could ignore that.

“Do you have a pacifier. Paci?” Laurent asked. “Bottle?”

Theo just launched himself into Laurent’s arms and sobbed on his shoulder.

This was new.

Laurent stood up straight and let the boy cry. He rocked him as best he could and weathered the damp patch seeping through his shirt. He didn’t know how to comfort a baby but he was determined to try. He whispered sooothing words, all promising Damen would be back soon and that Theo didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t alone. It sent Laurent’s mind to a strange place, or rather his mind was strangely still. He wasn’t thinking. All he could do is offer calm reassurances and focus on settling the baby. There was no room to think about anything else, and even as Theo’s sobs tapered off to whimpers and his breathing relaxed, Laurent just thought about making sure he didn’t get worked up again.

His heart gave a jolt when the door opened.

“Hey.” Damen’s voice was soft. He set a white paper bag on the counter and immediately went to Laurent and Theo.

“He woke up. He wandered out here. He climbed into my arms. I didn’t —”

“I know.” Damen’s voice turned serious. “Don’t worry.”

“Mama?” Theo buried his face in Laurent’s hair.

“Your dad’s here.” Laurent handed him back to Damen. His neck was still warm and damp where Theo had been clinging close.

“I’m here, buddy.” Damen said. “I’m gonna put you back to sleep, OK? We’ll find your pacifier.” With a look towards Laurent. “Don’t tell Jokaste. We're meant to be weaning him off it.”

When he returned, which took long enough for Laurent’s worries to snowball, Damen strolled out like nothing weird had happened. “More coffee?”

“He just wandered out crying,” Laurent said, again.

“Yeah, he does that a lot. Just my luck that he does it on the first date, sorry first maybe-date, I’ve really had since he moved in full time. I should have warned you.”

“I didn’t—”

“Laurent, I brought the baby monitor.” Damen tore open the paper bag. “I heard everything. So did everyone else in the lobby and the elevator. Mrs. Yates in 4D thinks you’re sweet. Don’t worry.”

“Sweet?”

“She might have been talking about the smell of the doughnuts. Dig in. They’re still warm.”

They did smell sweet. And delicious. The sugar shone under the kitchen lights and Laurent’s mouth was practically watering. Before he picked  
one up, he took a second to appreciate the fact the were just regular doughnuts. Some were dipped in sugar. Some glazed. There might have been a jam one here and there. But they were simple and old fashioned, not like those mosntrosities that appeared all over his Instagram feed, and it felt completely right for Damen.

When Laurent took his first heavenly bite, Damen spoke again.

Probably, he had waited on purpose.

“I am responsible with him,” Damen said. “I don’t date much, now, and if I have it’s been while he’s with Jokaste. I wouldn’t leave him vulnerable.”

“Every child is vulnerable,” Laurent managed to say. That earned him an inquisitive look.

“I know. I protect him,” Damen said. “I know your brother. I’m getting to know you. I took the baby monitor.”

“Damen, I’m not casting aspersions on your child-rearing skills.”

“Oh. Is this one of those learning to trust things?”

“Not really. I mean, I can be trusted,” Laurent said. He wanted to offer more reassurances but the advice Damen had give him previously held him back. Those words had rang true.

_Leave him with me,_ his uncle had said. _I love my nephew. I would never do anything he didn’t want._

And no-one had heard how wrong that statement sounded.

“More coffee?” Damen asked.

“Please,” Laurent replied. Then added, once Damen’s back was turned. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I have…strong feelings about child protection and it comes out in the wrong ways sometimes.”

“All right,” said Damen.

And then it was like it never happened. They went back to the couch and sipped more coffee. The doughnuts were so delicious, Laurent let out a little moan. Which made Damen look at him in a way that was hungry and not at all unpleasant.

“You could make money doing that,” Damen said.

“Stop.”

“I’m serious. People would pay for top dollar for the pleasure of that sound. And that’s before they see your face.”

“Well, I’ll bear that in mind if I lose my job at Patras and Patras. What?”

“You must get this a lot. You’re so well used to compliments they mean nothing.”

“And you don’t?”

“I say thank you,” Damen said.

“I usually say ‘go fuck yourself’, so count yourself lucky.”

“Ever been model scouted? A face like yours…”

“Actually, yes.” Laurent hadn’t thought of it in years. “A few times. When I was younger and more…androgynous.”

There’d been unasked for promises then, too - _Come to my studio. No funny business, I promise. We’re legit. Our website just isn’t built yet._ Thankfully, he’d been old enough to know that if a man dressed like a creeper and spoke like a creeper then he was definitely a creeper.

There had been another couple of times, with blase older women dressed solely in black with legit business cards, but Laurent had been objectified enough in his young life to have interest in that world. His brain was the only weapon he wanted to use.

“And the art students bugged me a lot in college,” he continued. “I didn’t mint the painters but the sculptors and the photographers were the worst.”

“I posed for all the college calendars. Teams I wasn’t part of. Sororities. Full spread in the LGBTQ magazine,” Damen said.

Laurent shook his head. “Of course you did. The real question is, if you asked just to brag.”

“Eh. Fitness companies sliding into my DMs, not to mention one persistent bachelorette party company, aren’t really in the same league. You could be in Vogue.”

“You could cover Men’s Health.”

“I am glad no-one can overhear us,” Damen said, then, licking powdered sugar off his fingers. It was disgusting. It was enchanting.

“We’d sound like the cockiest bastards around.”

“Hang on, I’ll take out my framed masters degree. My many sports medals. My charity awards.”

“You’re still thinking about Jokaste said about me being top of the class aren’t you?” Laurent was marveling inside at how easy this was. “Anyone can do well in school. It’s real world practice that counts.”

Damen looked at him for a long time before answering. “If I could find the person who made you think you had to put yourself down, I’d kick their ass.”

Laurent did not expect that. He wasn’t quite certain he could handle that level of perceptiveness right now.

“Always so sure you are right,” he said, breezily. Damen was nothing if not confident.

“I bet you’d kick ass in the courtroom though.”

“We’ll see.”

“When…”

“No, just in general. I’m eating the last doughnut by the way. Don’t even try and fight me.”

Damen was closer, though, so he got it first.

“Hey!” Laurent was wondering, though, if it might be fun to really fight Damen for the doughnut. Until, Laurent realised Damen was bringing the  
doughnut to his lips and his mind went rather blank. It was ridiculous. Like something from a tacky movie. But Laurent could look nowhere but Damen’s eyes as he brought the sticky treat to his lips. He knew what he was doing. He’d be mortified if anyone saw him, making a teasing production of eating from Damen’s finger; punctuating it with an appreciative little moan before licking his sugar from the side of his mouth.

“Laurent,” Damen said.

“Yes.”

“Can I?” He was already leaning in, the doughnut tossed aside, carefully communicating his intentions. Laurent liked that about him — the warm, safe feeling of him.

“I already said yes.”

Then they were kissing. It was a sweet kiss - by taste and by nature. The sugar lingered and so did the light press of Damen’s lips against Laurent’s. His eyes were open, warm, and reacting something that must have shown in Laurent’s own, usually guarded, gaze. Gentle as could be, Damen brushed his fingers through Laurent’s hair. There was no pressure, yet Laurent reacted like Damen was tugging him closer. He raised his chin, pressed himself closer, let himself melt into the sensation of kissing.

Damen was the one who initiated it, and Damen was the one who pulled back. Too soon, in Laurent’s opinion, but there was something touching about the cautious way this big man approached things. Laurent wanted to insist he did not need to be treated with kid gloves, because it was true, but he found he liked the softness.

Damen let a long low breath out through his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Damen gave a little shake of his head, the kind that made his hair bounce, and threw his arm over Laurent’s shoulder. “You liked it,” he said.

“If I didn’t, you would know.”

“Come on.”

“I liked it.” Laurent’s cheeks were warm but he made himself meet Damen’s gaze. “Oh my God,” he said. “Does your ego need constant feeding?”

“Since Theo came along, my ego and him are on the same schedule.”

“Oh my God,” Laurent said again and then he buried his face in Damen’s chest. There was so much going on inside, the only thing he could think of was to hide.

That night, in the dark of his own apartment, Laurent unlocked his phone screen ten million times before he began to type.

[00:48] I’ve decided that was a date. Next time, I’m taking you somewhere  
[03:25] Thank God. I’d be so embarrassed if the best date of my life turned out to be a lie  
[03:27] Theo won’t sleep.  
[03:28] I hope you’re having pleasant dreams  
[06:45] They were sweet


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> un-beta'd and posted in a rush so please forgive me if there are more typos etc than usual. and please remember this legal jurisdiction is the United Artesian Empire or something :)

“Laurent got laid,” Orlant said, with more confidence than he ever managed when discussing work. Across the table, Jord’s eyes went wide.

“Fuck off.” Laurent set down his phone. “That’s totally fucking inappropriate and you know it.”

“Torveld made us look at the pornographic drawings the neighbour kid put under his door.”

“You told him to bring them in,” said Jord.

“Ah, a traitor,” Orlant said. “You’re not denying it, Laurent.”

All right, Laurent may have been smiling down at his phone more than usual in the days since he and Damen first kissed. There might have been flirty messages. There were also cute snaps of Theo and the occasional workout picture that would have been an automatic block for anyone but Damen,

Laurent knew…he knew what it was like to be teased by men and boys who fought in packs and believed whatever was convenient. He also knew the best strategies to get them shut their mouths.

“For all you know, my personal anthem is that one Ariana Grade song,” he replied, “I am getting dicked down every night of the week. Spread, pounded, some days I can barely —”

“Jesus.” Orlant reared back a little. “I was only joking.”

“Try harder to be funny in future,” Laurent replied.

“You’re gay, then?” Jord said, as seriously as he said everything else.

“Yes.”

“If you want to join the LGBT Lawyers group, I can —”

“That’s not necessary. But thank you for offering,” Laurent said. Then he picked his phone back up and typed out the exchange to Damen. Auguste and Kashel were sending him snaps from their latest foster training course. They took it very seriously, except when the weird diagrams came out. The point was to weed out the weirdos, of course, but let’s face it if you didn’t know where it was appropriate to touch a child you shouldn’t be applying to be a foster carer in the first place.

As Laurent knew too well.

Still, the pictures were kind of heartwarming. Not that he would ever admit to that out loud. Auguste had so much love to give, Laurent knew he would be an excellent parent in any capacity. Kashel grew up in an unconventional situation that Laurent had never quite figured out — some kind of women’s commune? — but the point was she knew the value of found families. Any kid would be lucky to have them.

“You’re smiling again,” Orlant said.

“Thank you, I’m aware of that. See, when the brain fires off signals to the muscles in face one tends to feel said muscles move.”

Orlant looked like he wanted to reply. Though, he seemed the type to reply with an obscene gesture or prank instead of words. But Torveld came in then for their daily case meeting and they had to at least pretend to be professional.

Since Laurent joined this firm, he was learning that that’s what most working adults did all day - pretended like they knew what they were doing.  
Torveld launched into a rundown of case updates. In all honesty, they hadn’t much more to go on than they did last week. The strongest evidence was the word of the current and former residents of Delpha. However, firsthand accounts weren’t reliable in a court situation. People got flustered. They might seem untrustworthy. They needed something stronger than that if they were going to win against Kastor. They had some documentation with sketchy dates. They had proof Kastor relied on that Guion to rush his applications but no proof of anything shady.

They were trying to find some people who worked for Kastor to speak up, but those people weren’t being forthcoming.

Laurent really thought he could find something concrete with Kastor’s paperwork that would swing things in their favour. So far, he only had the vaguest of patterns. Nothing worth bringing to Torveld’s attention.

“We’ll have to quit stalling their team and start depositions,” Torveld announced at the end.

That got Laurent’s attention.

Depositions? He had thought this stage of research would rely on discovery and disclosure. He didn’t think anyone involved wanted depositions.

“They want that?” Jord asked. “I don’t get it.”

“It’s cheaper and less labour intensive than other research. Our plaintiffs are less savvy and won’t have a courtroom to spur them on in pursuit of justice,” Torveld said. “So, we need to prepare for this. Laurent, I’d like you to shadow me. You’ve done well with the meetings so far. Jord, notes. Orlant…keep doing what you’re doing.”

Shit. This was real lawyer stuff. Laurent’s insides were churning.

“Who can we expect on their side?” Laurent asked. If nothing else, he had to act pleased with Torveld’s decision. This was a big deal for someone as green as him. Also, he kind of wanted to see the infamous Kastor squirm.

“The usual suspects. Kastor himself. Their accountant and CFO. Maybe the main contractor. Oh, and the architect who came up with the initial plans. He’s not with the company anymore so he’s our best shot at a breakthrough. He’s the brother,” Torveld said. “Damianos.”

Shit.

“There’s bad blood there,” Orlant said. “Over a woman, I heard.”

“All the better for us,” Torveld said.

“It’s always a women.” Jord said. “We’re better off liking men, aren’t we Laurent? Life is so much simpler that way.”

-  
It was a good thing Laurent was ahead on his tasks for the day. After the meeting, his mind was racing again. He couldn’t open Damen’s messages. He couldn’t answer Auguste. He couldn’t find a way of worming out of shadowing Torveld with the depositions without fucking his career up further. But facing Damen across a boardroom was unimaginable to him now. Even if wasn’t asking the questions, it posed a million different ethical problems. They were … dating? They had kissed. They exchanged innuendo-laden messages and borderline risque snaps.

Laurent had gotten this job on the basis of having a fake child. Probably. If his lie was revealed, he’d be fired on the spot. Damen’s child, who could have been Kastor’s child, was the poor kid Laurent had passed off as his own. Would that come up? It wasn’t relevant but no-one was beyond cheap shots and scandal.

Laurent could deal with the personal fallout. Part of him was amazed he had lasted this long here. If failure was again inevitable for him, then he could cope.

But Damen…

Damen had already suffered so much because of his brother. His heart was not used to hurting. Already, Laurent could tell it was too tender for that.

Laurent didn’t want Damen to have face Kastor in a boardroom and answer probing questions.

His mind was already sorting through options and possibilities.

He was going to take care of this.

Laurent’s most generous assessment of Torveld was that he was a capable lawyer but only at a push. Torveld was more of a peacekeeper. His brother Torgier was the real driving force of their firm. So the first step was too sweet-talk him into buying some more time. Torveld wasn’t eager to launch into proceedings yet, either. Their case was still flimsy. Ethics and moral outrage didn’t mean a whole lot in the court of law. So Laurent used his fancy education and his silver tongue to convince Torveld to keep the wolves at bay for a while longer.

“I can find us more evidence,” Laurent promised. And Torveld believed him.

What Laurent found wasn’t quite substantial enough to convince him they had a clear win, so Laurent had to use his wiles to convince Torveld of a new tactic.

The tackiest tactic : advertising.

Thankfully, Laurent was good with words. He had also excelled at his college marketing and communications classes. Everyone was very impressed with his mock-up advert and since they didn’t need to pay for anyone to create an ad, Torveld agreed to launch the campaign. It would be worth it when they won. It would be worth it to keep Damen away from the proceedings and give Laurent time enough to sort his mess out.

He told himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong by keeping this from Damen. After all, they’d agreed not to discuss anything related to the case. But the day Laurent handed over the final version of the advertisement, he impulsively asked Damen out for lunch.

Damen replied almost immediately, yes, and he picked him up outside the office with Theo in the backseat.

“I’m sorry I had to bring the mini-monster back there,” Damen said. “Short notice and all. I’ll get a babysitter next time. Did -”

“You don’t have to apologise. I’m happy to see him too.”

“We haven’t really spent any time together alone.”

“Damen, I promise I don’t just want you for your baby. Now, you’re the local. Take me somewhere good.”

Damen drove them to an airy cafe where the wait staff knew him by name and took him to a big table in the back. Theo was occupied with various toys, a squeezy fruit thing, and the crayons the waiter had given him. Damen could relax when Theo was distracted, Laurent supposed. He chose to gaze across the table at Laurent.

“What are you in the mood for?” Damen asked.

“You.” Laurent spoke without thinking and then flushed fire-engine red. “You recommend something.”

“The Greek salad is good. Especially the dressing.”

Was he…no.

Laurent nodded. Decision made.

“So how’ve you been?” Laurent asked.

“Good, actually. I’ve taken on three new projects,” Damen said. “Turns out I like being in charge of what I do.”

“Shocking.” Laurent poured them both some water. “Can Theo have this?” Damen produced a sippy cup Theo’s backpack. “Who will watch Theo while you work?”

“He goes to daycare one morning a week. For the interaction mostly. And there’s a nanny at the park who I think could be a good fit. We had…issues with the previous minder. Jokaste knew her. It didn’t work out.”

“What happened?”

“She drank a bottle a wine and failed to notice he had a raging temperature.We had to take him to the emergency room. It was around the time  
everything was happening with Kastor and …”

“You’re a good dad. Don’t say you were pre-occupied or some shit.”

“Shit!” Theo said, gleefully.

“Yep. I’m the best.” Damen was smiling, though. “I’m glad you texted.”

“We’ve been doing that a lot.”

“I mean that you remembered your date promise,” he said.

Right. Laurent had promised Damen a date. And he’d asked him to meet because he selfishly wanted his company.

“I also said it would be my choice,” Laurent said. “And you brought me to a place of your choice.”

“Is that a roundabout way of saying I’m paying for lunch?”

“Well, if you’re offering…” Laurent smiled. “Maybe I’m just using you to get out of the office. I don’t know many people here.”

“I doubt you bother to know many people anywhere,” Damen replied. Weirdly, it wasn’t an insult. “Look, I know we agreed not to talk about the case but…”

Laurent braced himself. Maybe Damen knew about his interference. Maybe he knew about the push for depositions. Maybe they would have to end this. Or talk about the fact that any day now Damen could get called into the office where Laurent was pretending to be the father of his son.

“I was surprised at the latest round of delays. Did that name not help?”

Right. Damen had basically given them Guion in the first place.

While he waited for Laurent to answer, he cleaned Theo’s hands with a babywipe and balled the empty packet in his hands.

“The threads are there. It’s a matter of weaving them together,” Laurent said. “I’m sorry I —”

“It’s not your fault. Anyway, it’s not really anything to do with me anymore.”

Laurent hoped Damen would feel that way when things heated up. But deep down he knew Damen did not really feel that way now. It was written all over his face.

“What if you have to give evidence?”

“I won’t,” Damen said. “I gave a sworn statement when I left. I handed over all my files. I signed confidentiality agreements. Don’t give me that look, Mr. Lawyer, I know they are not iron-clad. But I honestly can’t be part of this. It’s too much.”

“It would dredge up all that pain for you.”

“And lawyers would have a field day with it,” he replied.

“It is rather scandalous.” Laurent stabbed the slice of lemon in his water with his straw. He liked the acidity.

“My family have a knack for scandal. After all, Kastor was born long before my mom died. No wonder my friends say I’m very good at compartmentalizing things. It can’t be changed. So I don’t dwell,” Damen said. “And maybe part of me wants Kastor’s true nature revealed. He made everyone think I was the slacker and he was the golden child.”

“I know that feeling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You don’t know the older generation of my family,” Laurent said. “Now, let’s talk about something better. Did I tell you I got my landlord to evict the dog abusers next door? Animal control are pushing to press charges.”

“That does sound very pleasant,” Damen teased. “But, no, you didn’t tell me the whole story. What happened after you sent the second letter?”

-  
Lunch was nice. The food was fine. Theo spilled his juice. Laurent hardly thought about the shit-pile he had dug for himself. Damen stopped the car back outside the office and Laurent was prepared to just jump out. It was Theo’s nap time. He was letting them know he was tired. There was every chance people in the next state could hear how tired he was.

But Damen turned off the engine and dashed around to open Laurent’s door.

“Really.” Laurent shook his head. “The whole chivalry thing isn’t required, you know.”

“I’m being selfish,” Damen said, and Laurent put his hand on his forearm to get out of the car. “See, you’ve whet my appetite.”

“You had a kebab with lamb and chicken.”

“Not that kind of appetite.” Damen had his hand on the roof of the car. Laurent thought that he should feel trapped but instead he was tingling with anticipation. Damen’s eyes were dark, darker than usual, and he stood so close Laurent could feel the heat from his skin.

“Damen,” Laurent said, and closed his eyes. In an instant, Damen was kissing him hard and fast. His chest was a solid pressure against Laurent’s body. His lips were so soft and Laurent was fought through his usual hesitancy because it was so good, so urgent. He pressed back against Damen with all that he had but all too soon Damen was breaking away, panting.

“You have to go back to work,” he said.

“Yeah.” Laurent straightened his tie. “I’ll text you,” he said.

“I’m going to make sure I get some proper childcare soon,” Damen said.

Laurent thought that seemed like parent-speak for _I really want us to bone._ He was OK with that. It also seemed impolite to kiss the face off Theo’s father and not say goodbye to the poor child. So he peeked back into the car.

Shit. They hadn’t been kissing that long, had they?

“Your child looks like he’s been rolling in the dirt,” Laurent said.

Damen leaned in over Laurent’s shoulder. The closeness of his body was a pleasant thing, even while faced with a very dirty baby.

“I knew there were more Oreos in that packet,” Damen said.

“And we should have realised there was a reason he stopped crying.”

“Yeah.” Damen looked caught-in-the-cookie-jar guilty. “And I should’ve put a fresh pack of wipes in the bag. Great. He’s gonna fall asleep like  
that and I’m gonna look so bad when —”

“Relax,” Laurent said. “I happen to work right there. I’m sure I can scrounge up a damp cloth.”

“Bring him in and clean him.”

“No.”

“It will make you look like an authentic parent,” Damen said.

“For someone who’s so honourable you’re awfully encouraging of my lie,” Laurent said. “All right. Unbuckle him. There an easy access restroom right by reception.”

Since Theo was covered in chocolate crumbs, cream and baby snot picking him up proved somewhat of a challenge. Laurent would do a lot for this kid but taking his afternoon meetings with his very nice suit covered in toddler gunk was not one of them. Arms rigid, baby bag slung over one shoulder, Laurent made a beeline for the toilet with Theo wriggling in front of him.

“Godspeed!” Damen called after him.

In the lobby, the dark-haired receptionist who was always businesslike nice to Laurent, gave him a funny look. He pretended not to notice. This was a relaxed office. Jord had accidentally walked in on one of the paralegals expressing milk in the break room just last week. It wasn’t unheard of for a staff member to deal with something personal as long as it didn’t interfere with their work. Once the door was closed, Laurent plonked Theo on the counter and ran a paper towel briefly under the water.

Theo tried to escape the counter. He tried to escape the bathroom. Laurent had to grab the back of his dungarees and then flip the lock. He hadn’t wanted to flip the lock.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Laurent murmured. “We’re gonna get that nasty stuff off your hands. And clothes. And neck. And face. And hair and bring you back to your dad. Sound good, buddy?”

“Want Dada,” Theo said.

“Me too, kid.” Methodically, Laurent went about cleaning the dirt from all of Theo’s exposed skin. The clothes were a disaster. The best he could do was get the worst of the mess off so it didn’t ruin Damen’s upholstery. Come to think of it, Damen must get that car detailed once a week to keep it in such good condition. When most of the mess cleaned, Laurent turned Theo to face the mirror. “Oh, my,” he said. “Who’s that boy in there?”

“Me!”

“Who’s me?” Laurent asked.

“Theo!”

“No. No. Theo’s a baby. That’s a big boy.” He leaned in to tickle Theo and got a telltale whiff in his nostrils. Great. A dirty nappy. The obvious thing to do was bring Theo straight out to his father. But it seemed kind of neglectful to leave a child sitting in a dirty diaper just to alleviate his own discomfort. So he called Damen. “We’ve got a code brown,” he said.

“Oh. Yeah. It’s about that time.”

“Did you do this on purpose?” Outraged. Theo giggled. He thought they were still playing.

“No. Just bring him out. I’ll do it in the backseat,” Damen said. “Wouldn’t be the first time, after all.”

“You don’t have wipes.”

“I’ll go straight home.”

But Theo could fall asleep in the carseat. God, who knew kids were so complicated at this age? Laurent had thought you had a straight run between 9 months and puberty where you didn’t have to worry much.

“I can do it.” Laurent shucked his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He switched the call to Facetime. “All right, talk me through this.”

“Dada!” Theo made a grab for the phone.

Damen was laughing. “Laurent, this isn’t bomb disposal. Grab the mat from the bag and spread it out on the counter. Theo, lie down so we can get you cleaned up. He’s big enough now,” Damen continued while his orders were followed, “To want to be cleaned. And he doesn’t roll away much anymore.”

“Wonderful.” Laurent started to open Theo’s dungarees.

“Poppers,” Damen said.

“Excuse me?”

“There are poppers on the legs.”

“Right. I knew that.” He soon got down to the diaper.

“No leakage,” Damen commented.

“Hallelujah,” Laurent replied.

“Theo, be good for us now,” Damen said. “Don’t move. Laurent, be ready to grab his legs. Now open the diaper. You need to kind of use it wipe? And when it’s folded, use one of the damp cloths to get the rest.”

“Got it.”

“Now tape it up and drop it into one of the baggies. Lay down the fresh one. This is where we do powder and ointment.”

“Right. There’s more to this then I anticipated,” Laurent said. Follow directions. Keep the phone angled so Damen could see everything. Keep Theo entertained. This shouldn’t have been so challenging for someone as smart as him.

“It gets easy after the first dozen or so,” Damen replied. “And somehow I think complicated suits you. He’s good now. Dress him again before he makes a naked escape. He hates pants lately.”

“Can’t imagine where he gets that from,” Laurent said, buttoning Theo back up. “Good job, buddy.”

“Good job,” Theo parroted, solemnly, as if he was genuinely praising Laurent. With that task done, Laurent had the wherewithal to be annoyed by Damen’s smug expression.

“If that shit eating grin isn’t gone off your face by the time we come out to the car, I will literally make you eat shit.” Laurent wielded the dirty diaper towards the phone screen like a weapon. Theo was clean enough now to prop on his hip. Of course, he could walk but if he made some kind of dash there was a chance he’d run into one of Laurent’s colleagues. The tighter all of this was contained the better.

“Your dad is so lucky to be the recipient of these charms,” Damen said to Theo. “Now hurry up. The parking warden keeps looking at me.”

Of course there were more people in the lobby when Laurent emerged with Theo in his arms, his sleeves still rolled up, tie flung over one shoulder and hair plastered to his forehead. The Patras team would never think him the cool, collected professional again. Perhaps harried father would gain him brownie points but it wouldn’t get him respect.

“Torveld,” Laurent said, as if he didn’t have a child in his arms. “Jord. Radal. Lovely day out there, isn’t it?” Once Damen reclaimed his son, Laurent gave him the filthiest look he could muster. It only made Damen laugh.

“I hope you remembered to wash your hands,” Damen said.

“Of course,” Laurent lied.

Later, when he was sure Damen wouldn’t be driving any more and he had scrubbed under under his fingernails, Laurent fired off a text.

Laurent :I _can’t stop thinking about it_  
Damen : _About what?_  
Laurent : _The Shergar Mystery. They never found that horse, you know._  
Damen : _Laurent_  
Laurent : _The next time we’re alone_

Then he had to go. There was a meeting (another one) about the direction of the suit against Kastor’s company. The ads were set to run. That’s why Radal had been in the lobby. It was a Big Deal for the firm. Partly because it was the first time in living memory Torveld had delved into the coffers. There would be a knock-on effect (hopefully) that once their name was out there they might be new clients unrelated to this case. They hired some temps from the local university to answer calls.

Laurent had to warn Damen.

Except it would break the terms of his employment contract and their personal agreement. Part of him wanted to know what Damen would do with the information. Chances were, he would give Kastor’s lawyers the heads up. Family was still important to him. Maybe it would be good if Damen showed his flawed side sooner rather than later. Everyone was flawed. Very few were trustworthy. Laurent wasn’t doing himself any favours by letting himself believe Damen was different.

A mental compromise : Laurent text Damen the very morning the adverts were going live. He was always up early with Theo anyway.

[05:48] I want to warn you that there will be ads running about the case from today onwards. It’s in poor taste, I agree, but it’s happening. There are a lot more people in Delpha than are currently on our client list  
….  
….  
[06:00] I saw them  
[06:00]One of my soccer friends sells ads for local radio.  
[06:01]And I’ve known my father’s lawyer my whole life.  
[06:01] Thank you for telling me though  
[06:02] I know you couldn’t have done it sooner  
[06:03] I’m sorry  
[06:04]You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault this hurts

Laurent’s insides twisted with guilt. He knew that that feeling would remain, later in the office when the phones were ringing and he would be getting praised for coming up with this in the first place. It was his idea. Damen wouldn’t be so kind to him if he knew.

[06:06] I can still be sorry you’re having a rough time  
[06:07] Aren’t you normally on your second circuit by this hour? And you make fun of me for working out…  
[06:17] Sorry. I was in the shower  
_Laurent is typing_  
Damen is typing  
….  
[06:18] Skipped working out today. Besides, I make fun of your muscles not your routine. It’s different  
[06:18] The mental image you just gave me is unfair  
[06:19] [blush face emoji]  
[06:21] I could make you blush for real  
[06:22] I have to go to work  
[06:30] Right. Busy day, right?  
[06:31] I’ll warn you Kastor’s lawyers will be on the warpath  
[06:31] I would be too if I didn’t know you  
[06:32] My father’s name is still on the masthead, you know? Theo’s name now too  
[06:35] I know. I’m so sorry  
[06:38] How could Kastor have brought this dishonour on him? On us.  
[06:39] Greed and desire are powerful poisons. They twist lots of men  
[06: 55] only if they’re already flexible  
…  
…  
Once Damen was dragged in to be deposed, or he found out that Laurent was behind the ads, he’d probably hate him. Damen could barely look at Jokaste without being reminded of betrayal. He’d probably feel the same about Laurent - forever associate him with this dark time in his life.

Meanwhile, the ads were working. There were lots more people getting in touch with the firm. Plenty of time-wasters, sure, but also some welcome additions. Sometimes, Laurent had to accompany Torveld to their homes to get background information. Other people wanted to come into the office. It gave them a sense of propriety.

Laurent was brainstorming ways to get Kastor to settle, when Torveld announced they were having another ‘town hall’ meeting for current and potential plaintiffs. Right here in the office. Great.

“You said it made us look more legit. No more going to them like some ambulance chaser.”

Laurent had said that when he was sick of driving around in Torveld’s Camry that always smelled like stale coffee.

“What can I do?” He said, helpfully. Win the case. Get the experience. Use this as a stepping stone to something better.

“You’re in charge of paperwork,” Torveld said. “Talk to the office manager. We might need more clipboards.”

“Great.”

See, Torgier had flown in for the occasion with his daughter who was heir to the legal firm’s throne. Combined, the Patras family were more impressive than Laurent. So he made sure new clients knew what boxes to tick and went through heaps of sign-here stickers. That probably wasn’t what his mother imagined when she left him a generous college fund. After a while, Laurent just couldn’t cope with another second of slideshows and questions. The only thing keeping them from being just like Kastor was that they had right on their side. Still, he knew legal proceedings were a big deal for lots of these people. They were spending the money in their heads already.

He had to step outside. He’d been in the office for twelve hours already that day, and the gulp of crisp night air made him feel somewhat human again. The stars were bright. That was something. On his phone, he watched a snap of Damen reading Theo a bedtime store. That was nice. It was probably the highlight of Laurent’s day.

“So are you only pretending to be a lawyer? Like that show with the girl who’s fucking Prince Harry now.” The voice was young, high as a girl’s, and came from that curly-haired boy who’d been at the last meeting.

“Yes. I’m actually a child snatcher,” Laurent said. “So you should watch who you talk to.”

That earned him a long, cool look that was shockingly familiar. Like, look-in-the-mirror familiar.

“I’ve seen worse,” the boy said, and his tone made Laurent believe him. “Will they be much longer? Are there cookies this time?”

“Yes and No. There are coffee and pastries inside, though.”

“Gross. Pastries always have fruit.”

“Heaven forbid you get some nutrition.”

“Ugh. You sound…never mind. How come they don’t have any money yet?”

“These things take time…what’s your name?”

“Nicaise.”

“I’m Laurent, Nicaise.”

“I’m not shaking your hand,” he replied. “That’s weird. I don’t even want to be here but the social said I couldn't stay alone anymore. Or maybe the manager I’m not sure. And I don’t want to be there either. I liked it better at Grandma’s. Even if she was a hoarder.”

That was a lot for Laurent to take in. “Your Grandma sold her house to the developers?”

“Yeah. And now she has to live in a home.”

“Is she inside?”

“Yeah. She’s not disabled or anything. Just her head gets messed up sometimes.”

That, Laurent could understand. “We’re trying our best,” he said.

“It’s kinda my fault. So you better be working hard. I don’t like —”

“How would it be your fault?”

“I — I thought it was a good idea.”

“You’re a child.”

“They seemed so nice. I liked it when they brought me places.” Nicaise’s gaze was fixed firmly on his scuffed Nikes. “We stayed in a hotel on the very top floor. It’s not like that now. It’s fucking awful.”

Laurent’s heart sped up. No…this had to be one of those moments when he was being overly-suspicious. It was like him stupidly telling Damen he wouldn’t hurt Theo. His mind wasn’t like other people’s.

“With whom did you stay in a hotel?”

Nicaise snorted. “Lawyer talk.”

“Nicaise. This is just between us. Confidentiality. Like a nurse or a doctor.”

“He works for the company. I think he does the money stuff. Audin, his name is.”

It was a good thing there was nothing in Laurent’s stomach. He would have thrown up.

But he was an adult now. He was safe. That name…though.

No, focus on Nicaise.

“Nicaise, you know it’s not normal for a thirteen year old boy to go to a hotel with a grown man.”

“I was twelve then. He said I was his son.”

“Did —”

“Sorry to interrupt. Am I late for the meeting? I’m not a plaintiff but I might know something that could help.” This said by a guy about Laurent’s age wearing an expensive jacket and artfully tousled hair. “I’m Kallias. I called.”

This could have been the thing that swung the case in their favour. Laurent knew he should swoop in and see what this guy had to offer.

“Jord!” He called in through the door. “Go in to Jord. He’ll look after you. Wait, Nicaise, where are you going?”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

“Nicaise.” God, he was following the boy now. That wasn’t creepy at all. “I can help you. Whatever happened, I can help.”

“You just want me to help your stupid case,” Nicaise spat. “You want your cut of the money. I’m not fucking interested.”

“No. I won’t tell anyone.”

“That’s what he said.” There was a look on Nicaise’s face that no child should wear. And Laurent recognised that, too. “I have to make sure no-one stole my bike.”

“Wait. What’s your…”

But the boy had ran away.

-  
Laurent let out several curses, kicked the nearest trashcan, and dashed back to his desk without paying heed to the ongoing meeting. Jord could handle the clipboards. He went through their files until he found Audin’s name. Yes, he was the accountant. Up to this, he hadn’t been on their radar at all. Laurent certainly hadn’t seen the name. Anyway, like the tradespeople and engineers they were struggling to get hold of, Audin was not one of Kastor’s employees.

He had his own firm, representing many of the most powerful men in the state.

Laurent’s hand was shaking as he pulled up Audin’s website. It wasn’t a coincidence. He recognised the man right away. Laurent clicked through to some press shots, and there was Audin again shaking hands with that Councilor Guion.

All that was missing from the picture was his uncle.

Buried in Laurent’s brain, was the young fragile part of himself ;the voice that was full of doubt and loathing. The instinct that made it impossible for him get out of bed after law school. The idea, now, that it was always going to be like this. He would try. He would put in the blood, sweat and tears.

But he wouldn’t win.

Laurent’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped. He shut down the windows on his computer, like someone would see what he was doing.

It was Damen calling.

Sweet Damen who tried to see the good in people and wanted a simple life and built houses in the woods.

“Hello?” Laurent found himself answering, even though he didn’t want Damen to know any of this.

“Hey.” Damen actually sounded happy to hear his voice. “Are you finished work yet?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

“Are you all right?”

“I have to go somewhere.”

“For work?”

“Yes. No. I …my old house. Where Auguste and I grew up.” As he spoke, Laurent was piecing together a plan. There was something there. He knew it. “I need to get something.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No.”

“Laurent, you told me about your crash. You sound upset.”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t go. It’s late. Come here. Go in the morning when it’s bright out.”

“I can’t just turn up at your house, Damen.”

“Jokaste has Theo. Why do you think I called you?”

“I don’t accept booty calls.”

“You can’t pull of saying it either,” Damen replied. “Look, I’m here. Come over. Please.”

“My boss is looking for me.” A lie. But once he hung up, Laurent text and said he’d be there soon. He needed this job. So he held himself together while they debriefed after the meeting and then he went to see Damen. It shouldn’t have felt as reassuring as it did to make his way up to Damen’s apartment. He knew the entry code and Damen told him to park in one of his spaces. When Damen opened the door, face clouded in concern, Laurent wished he would wrap him up in his strong arms.

“You look terrible,” Damen said.

“Blunt as ever.”

“Laurent.”

“I’m really tired,” he said. That was true. He was so tired of carrying victimhood on his shoulders. It followed him; a monkey on his back. It made him see all the rotten realities of the world that people like Damen could blessedly pass by.

The last time Laurent was here, he spilled his guts about one personal problem. He couldn’t throw out a fresh hell on his second visit. Besides, it would kill Damen to think any kind of sexual exploitation had been done in his father’s company’s name.

“Do you want to lie down?” Damen said.

Laurent nodded.

On autopilot, he shed his clothes and pulled shorts and a t-shirt that Damen dutifully passed over the bathroom door.

“Why do these fit me?” Laurent called, trying to regain some semblance of normality. He couldn’t get that boy Nicaise’s face out of his mind. He couldn’t think those words without feeling dirty.

“Oh.” Damen scratched the back of his neck as Laurent emerged. “They’re probably Jokaste’s. Don’t give me that look. It’s from when she was pregnant.”

“Is that meant to reassure me?” But he was smiling, despite himself. “Because if it was is, I want you to replay those words in your head again.”

“I made tea,” Damen said. “Chamomile and lavender.”

“Is it Jokaste’s too?”

“No. I keep it in for Nikandros. His doctor told him to give up caffeine. Blood pressure problems or stress or something.”

Laurent sat with his ankles crossed on Damen’s bed, holding the steaming mug in both hands. For a moment, he felt lucky. He had this moment where he could imagine someone good cared for him.

“Your cop friend?” Laurent blew away some steam from the surface, aware of Damen’s eyes on him. There was admiration there, and the good part of him liked it, until he was wrenched back to reality. “What department does he work in?”

“Human trafficking. Our city is a hub, apparently.”

“That’s…intense.”

“Well, the division covers sexual exploitation, child safety. All that fun stuff. No wonder he gets stressed.” Damen shuddered a little as he propped himself up on some pillows. Right. This apartment had one bed and one crib. Laurent hadn’t thought of that too much before he came over. “I could never do what he does. Or even Jokaste, dealing with criminals. She gets really upset when they get off.”

“Upset?”

“Well, angry,” Damen said.

“I could see you as a cop,” Laurent said. “Or in the army like Auguste.”

“I thought my father would be prouder if I had a role in the business. And I really like building things.” He scrunched up his nose. “I would probably like delivering swift justice given the chance, though.”

“Is that what made your friend Nikandros join the force?”

“No…well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you this. But he says it himself, with the first part edited out,” Damen said. “ But it doesn’t reflect too good on me  
either.”

“Well,” Laurent corrected, automatically.

“Shut up. I talk to a baby all day.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Damen continued. “We used to party a lot when we were younger. Just normal college stuff. Drinks and girls. One of the guys insisted we go to this sketchy strip club before his wedding. They offered extras there.”

“Right.”

“We didn’t know before we went,” Damen said. “So Ol’ Nik hired himself a hooker, or so we thought. Nothing to be proud of but people do it all the time. Maybe sex work is a legitimate choice for some people. I’m not expert. But Nik just ended up talking to the girl. He could tell she was distressed and she wasn’t there by choice. She was barely eighteen and barely spoke English .To be honest, I was pretty drunk. But it stayed with him. And he didn’t cry about it. He just got to work.”

“That’s almost nice.”

“Which part did you like? The forced prostitution or my youthful idiocy?”

“The reminder that there are some decent people out there.” And the seed of an idea; that this was something he could work with.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for all your lovely comments! if Easter is something you celebrate, I hope you have a lovely weekend!


	7. Chapter 7

A secret : Laurent had never woken up with another person before. He had a roommate in college who once drunkenly climbed into his bed. As a child, he had snuck into Auguste’s room in the middle of the night often. But Auguste was mindful of, well, their father’s attitude and would carry Laurent back to his own room before sunrise.

Now, he woke with Damen breathing on the back of his neck and where he expected to feel cloying irritation Laurent felt only sleepy warmth. The bed was warm. Damen’s skin was warm. It was one of those moments he didn’t want to end.

“Are you awake?” Damen’s voice was husky with sleep.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“No.”

“OK.” Damen shifted closer. His arm came over Laurent’s side. God, was he nuzzling?

“You’re spooning me,” Laurent said.

“Is that a problem?”

Laurent put his hand over Damen’s and pulled him closer. Damen's firm chest pressed against Laurent's back. His arm was a comforting weight. Laurent couldn't help but think about the easy curve of both their hips, one behind the other. They fit together. It was nice. That wasn’t a good word but he used it all the same. Laurent thought that he could lie here forever and pretend that he wasn’t trying to outrun work and lies and his ugly past. He imagined a life of doing this every morning. He considered turning his body and turning this into something else. Morning breath might be an issue but he thought they could overcome it.

Damen was idly stroking Laurent’s shoulder. They could overcome anything, Laurent thought, if they were alone in a warm bed. If they stayed just a little longer, he might find a way to explain this mess to Damen. Laurent didn’t need help. He wanted to protect Damen. But…but sometimes it was a relief to share a burden.

“Damen!” Footsteps. A smug, trilling voice.

It was Jokaste.

Laurent froze. Damen groaned and sat up in the bed at the very moment Jokaste threw the bedroom door open. Lips pursed, she surveyed the sight as one might observe a picture in an art gallery. Theo was in her arms, holding some bright plastic toy, and he angled to get over to his father.

“Well,” she said. “ If it isn’t the boy _du jour._ I suppose may have to start knocking.” With that, she let Theo slither to the floor and promptly left the bedroom. Damen cursed under his breath and threw back the covers.

“You’re four hours early, Jokaste,” he called.  Or something like that. Laurent was rather distracted by the sight of Damen's thighs.

She was still walking away. “I have to work.”

“It’s Saturday!”

“I heard they want to charge a serial rapist. I need to be there,” she replied. “Theo, darling, be good for Daddy. Damen, be good for Laurent.”

Damen was still following her, arguing, but their voices faded out of range. Laurent was still frozen under the covers, thinking that he was very glad he was covered enough for Jokaste to not recognise her clothing on him.

“Mama?” Theo climbed onto the end of the bed.

“She’s gone to work,” Laurent replied.

“Mama?” He crawled closer and patted Laurent’s hair.

Laurent sighed. “Good morning, Theo. Where’s your airplane?”

“Plane!” Theo drove it down Laurent’s face. The wheels tangled in his hair.

Damen came back to the door with a thunderous look on his face. Laurent watched as he took a moment to inhale, calm himself, and smile across at his son. Then he threw himself back down on top of the covers and received countless hugs and kisses from Theo. It probably wasn’t appropriate for Laurent to still be here. But he was trapped under the blankets and fascinated by the gentle way Damen interacted with his son. He listened earnestly to incoherent babble and did then patted the headboard to indicate Theo should use it as a runway for his plane.

“She didn’t even give him breakfast,” Damen muttered, once Theo was distracted. “One night and one morning was all she had to do. It wouldn’t kill her.”

“Does, um, she always let herself in like that?”

“Yeah. She has a key for emergencies. It was never an issue before. It shouldn’t be now if she wasn’t such a workaholic. Honestly. I don’t know  
why she keeps trying to walk all over me.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent said. He was wondering what he could do to stop Jokaste treating Damen like a doormat. He didn’t deserve that.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Damen said. “All right, who wants pancakes?”

Theo cheered and Laurent watched as Damen swung him out of the room. He had to shower. Get dressed. Go back to the real world. He forced  
himself to do those things, glad of Damen’s power shower and the dry cleaning hanging up in the back of his own car. He couldn’t stay in a cocoon forever. It was ridiculous to indulge in this domestic fantasy in the first place. In the kitchen, when Laurent finally emerged, Damen was wiping Theo’s sticky face.

“Your stack is keeping warm in the over. There’s fruit in the fridge,” he said. “I’ll wrangle the monster into his play pen and we can eat together.”

“Not a monster,” Theo said. “I’m Theo!”

“You’re the Theo Monster,” Damen replied, swinging him out of his chair.

Theo growled back.

“I was going to—” Laurent began, then stopped. Get out of their hair was what he was going to do. This was too nice for him to bring down.

“You don’t have to stay if you’re uncomfortable,” Damen said. “I know this is a lot to take in on a Saturday morning. And I haven’t even turned on the Disney Channel yet.”

“No. I’d like to stay,” Laurent said. “Judging by the mess, I can see you actually made them instead of getting Postmates while I was in the shower.”

“The best artists aren’t afraid to make a mess. As this one proves on Finger-Painting Fridays.” While Damen dealt with Theo, Laurent poured coffee and juice. They ate at the counter, where Damen could see everything. “I hope we’re not scaring you off,” he said.

“I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Laurent, you’re not in the way. In fact, I think with your ability to read people you would know if anyone thought you were in the way,” Damen said, with a new tone to his voice. “It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t? These are really good by the way. Very fluffy.”

“How someone with all your gifts and looks and strength can be so…I don’t know.”

They had said to him _depression and low self-esteem are the most common traits found in adult survivors of abuse_

Laurent couldn’t say that to Damen. He hardly knew him.

“We’re not all blessed with your confidence,” Laurent replied. “Or should I say inflated ego?”

“Your brother must have stolen all the supply in your family,” Damen said. “Auguste totally took over the soccer team when he moved here, you know? And he said we couldn’t make fun of the British guy who calls it football anymore either.”

Damen was good at knowing when Laurent didn’t want to delve deep. He wasn’t wrong, either. Laurent had spent so long feeling inferior to the golden oldest son. He still did, sometimes, even though it had been explained to them that their circumstances were different. Both of their parents adored Auguste. Their father thought the sun shone from his very soul. Their mother hadn’t been sick when Auguste was growing up. He hadn’t been orphaned as a young teen and left alone in the care of their uncle.

“I know it’s annoying,” Laurent said.

“Stop.” Damen could be very authoritative when he wanted to be. “You’re doing it again.”

“I’m not as good at hiding around you,” Laurent admitted. “The people I know from school and work would not share your opinion. I’m also not  
myself this morning. I can’t believe I just showed up like that last night.”

“You were upset.”

“Work is hard,” Laurent said. “There’s a lot going on right now and last night’s public meeting tipped me over the edge.”

“Is it the lie?” With a nod towards Theo playing on the floor.

“No. I wish it was that.”

“The case?”

“No, not directly. Not in any way you should be concerned about,” Laurent said. As things stood, he didn’t have anything tangible to prove what Nicaise had implied. He knew enough of denial to be pretty sure Damen wouldn’t see the threads like Laurent had. Not to mention, the fact that out of all the people in the world Nicaise had chosen to confide in Laurent. He had seen something in him that Laurent did not want to acknowledge. Auguste often knew fellow soldiers on the street just by the way they held themselves.

Laurent had lived most of his life in the sole pursuit of hiding his darkest secrets away.

“You can tell me,” Damen said.

“We agreed not to talk about the case. We’re legally bound not to talk about the case.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Damen’s voice was low and Laurent could feel the sincerity behind his words.

“Maybe another time.” Laurent offered a little smile. It was all he could do to let Damen know he appreciated the thought. “Hey, can you pass me the coffee?”

They had also said to Laurent that his tendency to attempt to control everything was typical. He hated those assessments. Other people felt a weight off their shoulders when they got an explanation. Laurent saw it differently. It stripped him of individuality. It reduced him to victim-status and that meant his uncle was still winning. Even now, when he was just trying to be an adult and do a good job at work, he couldn’t escape his past. Some things were inevitable. But if Laurent had his way, Damen would never know these things about him.

He’d never have Jokaste taking advantage or his brother bullying the whole world, either, but Laurent could only work within his means. One thing was certain —there was no way he was letting Damen suffer through these depositions. There had been such genuine annoyance and  
bewilderment on his open face over Jokaste’s treatment of him. Such wonder when he looked at Theo. Such … look-of-a-tv-detective-at-a-whiteboard-trying-to-piece-together-the-puzzle when he was understanding Laurent. He’d get eaten alive by lawyers.

Even ones as ineffectual as Torveld and Jord.

“Damen!”

Another new voice in the apartment.

“Does your place have a revolving door?” Laurent shifted his stool slightly away. He didn’t know how they ended up sitting so close together.

“Kitchen!” Damen shouted. “No, but Nik has a key too,”

Nikandros. The detective. Laurent could work with this.

“I’m guessing by the sound of Paw Patrol you won’t — oh.” Nikandros halted. His face dropped, then twisted into open disdain. Nikandros couldn't have that kind of animosity in him for the kids show on TV. It was Laurent. Usually, he had to open his mouth before people disliked him. 

“Jokaste bailed,” Damen said. “Again.”

“Typical.” Nikandros was still looking at Laurent, who was forgetting it was a good idea to keep Nikandros on side. Not only because he was Damen's best friend. But because Laurent had the roots of plan in which Nikandros would play a pivotal part. 

“But at least there’s pancakes,” Damen said.

“Ever the optimist, my friend.”

Laurent rose from the stool. “I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that,” he said. “Damen missing whatever scintillating activity you had  
planned for the morning has absolutely nothing to do with me. I may have similar colouring to the demon-ex but that’s where the similarities end.”

“I didn’t -”

“Damen, I better go.”

“No. You were just —”

“I have stuff to do.” Laurent couldn’t resist running his hands through Damen’s wild hair and pressing a kiss to his open mouth before he left. “Thanks for breakfast,” he said. “And for the bed. Bye Theo!”

At least he knew how to make an exit.

He also knew how to fuck himself over. It had been a mistake to antagonise Nikandros. He was Damen’s friend, no matter how much Laurent disliked the way he looked at him. And Laurent may need his help. But if Nikandros was half the friend and cop he was meant to be, he would do as Laurent regardless of any personal opinion. Probably.

 

-  
Outside the comforting walls of Damen’s apartment, Laurent pushed himself to move. To get into his car and drive. To see this thing through to the end. He thought about that boy Nicaise, loitering around meetings. He thought about baby Theo, and how everyone had been a baby like that once. He just knew that Theo was lucky — that Damen would protect that child with every fibre of his being.

These thoughts were all tinged with guilt.

On the outskirts of town, Laurent pulled over to the side of the road.

His phone had one notification and several messages.

Damen : _Hey, you rushed off._  
 _Come back if you want. I’m taking Theo to feed the ducks later._  
 _Sorry about Nik. He doesn’t trust my dating judgment._  
 _Are you all right?_  
 _You can talk to me. You know that._  
Laurent : _I’m fine. Just have some family stuff to deal with._  
 _…_  
 _…_  
 _…_  
 _Thank you for last night. It meant something that you asked me over. Hope you and Theo have a good day  
_

 

He put his phone back down.

Then he picked it up again and called Auguste. It rang out and Laurent was briefly, deeply insulted by that. There were some aspects of being the younger brother that were very hard to shake. He dialed again and when he got voicemail, he spoke.

“Do you ever think I should have gone to the police that time you came back from deployment?” Laurent said, no preamble. “Like, I know I didn’t want to but was that selfish? What if…what if that was wrong and all I did was leave other people who don’t have brothers open to being…I’m not blaming anyone. I’m just thinking.”

Beep.

He dialed again. “I think about it sometimes, taking him to court. Maybe a civil case. The burden of proof is less and I don’t know if they’d prosecute after all these years without evidence but God, I’d love to quash every statue of limitations law out there. But, yeah, I only called to ask you —”

Beep.

Dialled again.

“If the security codes were all still the same. I’m heading out to the old house now. And also, how would you feel if some of the stuff about him came to light? It might. Not me but…would it impact your fostering stuff?”

Beep.

Laurent blinked down at his phone.

Maybe Auguste wouldn’t listen to his messages.

-  
Their childhood home sat on a sprawling estate about an hour and half’s drive from town. Laurent didn’t like to give the fact both he and his brother had settled so close much thought. They had no connections, really, with this place. No family but themselves. They’d had tutors and commutes to an elite private school forty five minutes further away. Then Auguste enlisted and then he got custody of Laurent and a later job on a base three states away. They’d had good times there, in a bubble of their own making. Auguste flew up the ranks. Laurent excelled at school. Untouchable. Then college, which was the right thing to do. Auguste had met Kashel which was right for him.

The old house was a monument to another life.The Laurent who lived here with his parents didn’t exist anymore. It sat, empty, but not abandoned. Auguste made sure it was well maintained, the costs covered by their parents estate. It could have been sold, even rented, but the closest it had come to occupation since Auguste unceremoniously threw their uncle out was the the time Kashel’s clan camped on the lawn.  
Laurent had been here once as an adult, during what he sometimes referred to as his second dark period. (They said, in the centre, that he made himself sound like a grand artist when he used these terms.) Back then, he hadn’t made it inside. There was an ugly fence out the back that their uncle had ran through their mother’s flower beds. Laurent had torn it down. His hands had been destroyed with splinters for days after.

He half-expected deja-vu, or some long-buried sadness, as he climbed the steps to the grand front door. But there was nothing. This was part of another life. It was neither the place he had played as child nor the site of his teenage agony. It was just a house.

Inside, the furniture was covered in dust sheets and that was a bit of a shock. It was logical, of course. Saved on cleaning and preserved some very nice pieces. But it heightened the impression of the house being a forgotten place. Maybe it was for the best. It stopped him lingering near the old piano or looking longingly at the family portraits. He was here to get something done and that mission took him to his father’s old office, which his uncle had taken over when he moved in.

Here, Laurent’s mind started to fuzz.

Here was the place where he had been summoned.

_Come around here so you can see, Laurent, with a hand too close for comfort._

And the rest.

Laurent had been so…lonely. It made him vulnerable. But even then, he wasn’t stupid. He had seen the men who flocked around his uncle for what they were. He saw the hold his uncle had over them. He remembered seeing a drunken stumble away from a party and quiet threats in a hallway. At the time, he thought it made those older people the same as him. That the prospect of anyone knowing was so shameful it made them comply like they were under a thrall. Later, he learned that it wasn’t shame that scared them. It was losing. Losing in general or losing position. Losing face. They cared about things like that.

His uncle was clever. He made sure he had enough on all his cronies that they would never be able to turn against him. They made sure the young boys, who were poor and easy to exploit, were afraid of people knowing. Like Laurent, they had shame. The men had none.

Laurent could be clever. He was smart enough to look for his brother, to leave the signs when he couldn’t say the words. He learned to fake drunkenness in order to observe and he had used this to learn the code to the safe. And change the code the day Auguste kicked their uncle out. He’d never looked inside. But no-one else had either.

Walking through the office was like wading through water. The sight of the desk made his stomach lurch. He knew what it was like to have his face pressed to that mahogany. A total cliche : the safe was hidden behind an old painting that swung out from the wall like a prop in a movie. The new code Laurent had set that day Auguste knocked their uncle out with one punch worked. The heavy door popped open.

Laurent could not look inside.

He steeled himself. He thought that Auguste would not hesitate. Auguste had believed him unequivocally. Auguste was a soldier to his core and even without a uniform, he went above and beyond to protect the people under his care. He was the most dedicated staff member in that middle school. Laurent could be like that. This wasn’t about him - it was for Damen and Nicaise and all the other boys.

He made himself look inside. There was a paper file. Surprise, surprise, their uncle had some offshore bank accounts. Other typical stuff, too, financial statements, insurance papers, and oh, a picture of him and Laurent’s father when they were young. That was a real surprise. It was difficult to think of his uncle and father in the same way he thought of himself and Auguste. There was a Polaroid of a boy Laurent didn’t know.

Perfectly innocent, if you didn’t know Uncle.

And at the back, in the corner : a flashdrive.

There was still a computer on the desk. Laurent turned it on. There was still electricity in the house, though they didn’t spring for wifi these days. Just because they had money that working for them didn't mean they were wasteful.

That was all right. Laurent just had to insert the memory stick and see what was on it. His gut told him there had to be information about his uncle’s old cronies, the men who had made this house hedonistic in the time after his parents died — those same men who were now helping Damen’s brother.

His hands were shaking. He thought of all those times he’d gotten drunk. He thought of the touches, the mix of contradictory feelings, and he wondered if he’d ever seen a camera flash.

There was a perfectly good chair - his uncle’s chair — but Laurent slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He might as well have been on the bottom of the ocean. He could do this. He would do it in a minute. He would help. Damen needed this. Nicaise, who Laurent could barely bring himself to think about, needed it most of all.

If there was anything related to him - he would deal.

Memories and pictures - what was the difference? Still, what if…what if he was breaking the law? If there was something, it would be a crime to look. What if they thought he was like his uncle? Tainted and twisted. I _t’s an oft-quoted false statistic that abusers were victims themselves._  
 _Laurent,_ they had said, _realistic estimates are less than thirty percent. Laurent, one in six boys are assaulted. Did you know that? Half a million people born in any year in this country. Laurent, someone with your past is at least three times more likely to have symptoms of depression and PTSD. Laurent, would you scoff if your soldier brother had nightmares?_

But it usually felt he was alone.

He sat on the cold floor, willing himself to get up. He thought of all those mornings he could not make himself get out of bed. He thought it was stupid to keep trying. He should quit now, live off his inheritance and let Damen live in peace.

He thought he heard footsteps in the hall. More ghosts.

“Laurent!”

No, not ghosts. His brother. His perpetual rescuer, here to save the weak younger brother.

He was in the process of getting to his shaky feet when Auguste appeared at the door, saying his name and rushing towards him.

“No need to yell my ear off,” Laurent said. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? You weren’t answering your phone. You left those voicemails. I saw in the groupchat that Damen didn’t show up to Soccer Saturday either  
and then he messaged me to see if you were all right.”

“What’s Soccer Saturday?”

“Seriously? That’s what you focus on.” Auguste sighed. He was well used to Laurent’s ways. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. I invited you when you first came back to town, remember? We have five a side games Saturday mornings. We needed a goalkeeper.”

Laurent vaguely remembered that. He had thought Auguste just felt sorry for him.

“I’m better in defense,” he said.

“Laurent, is it getting too much for you again?”

“No. No. It’s not like that,” Laurent said. He was never much good at keeping things from Auguste. So he told him the chain of decisions that brought him to this office. The case. The familiar names. The boy Nicaise with the bright blue bicycle. His need to do the right thing.

“And Damen,” Auguste said.

“What?”

“You think forcing them to settle the case would be best for Damen.”

“I suppose.”

“You want justice. You still think you don’t deserve it for yourself. But you can allow yourself to want it for other people.”

Laurent swayed on his feet. The words were a blow. “That’s not…”

“To answer your questions,” Auguste continued. “Yes, I wonder. But it seemed best at the time. You were so…fragile. No, it won’t make a difference to our application. It’s almost approved. And here’s one more thing I never told you - he’s always being watched. Our uncle doesn’t do anything I don’t know about.”

“What do you mean?”

“A friend from the army who has some friends in, well, a motorcycle gang owed me a favour."

“Jesus.”

“They paid him a visit, right after he left. And every time he moves house. And occasionally just to freak him out. Also, I have people monitoring his computer. We’ll call them…”

“Hackers?”

“I worked in cyber security on base. You meet some interesting people.”

“Jesus.”

“A lifetime of fear isn’t enough for him,” Auguste said. “And…he had you under a spell for a while. I was afraid he would contact you.”

“Oh.”

Auguste was not wrong. Not about that. There were times Laurent even missed him, just as he missed his parents. They said at the centre it wasn’t uncommon. It was part of the manipulation. It was all right that he enjoyed the attention; that he had been susceptible to the charade of being cherished.

“I knew that would upset you.”

“No. It’s fine. I wish you would have told me.”

“I’m telling you now,” Auguste said. “So please don’t use this knowledge to take up the mantle of harassment yourself.”

“I would never.” Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Laurent felt the edges of his mouth curve up to a smile. He was very much likely to take up any scheme that involved making his uncle’s life miserable. Revenge was not his forte. But justice was everything to Laurent.

Auguste leaned on the edge of the desk. “I used to imagine sitting there,” he said. “Father thought I would take over from him.”

“I’m sorry. I ruined —”

“Laurent, I joined up long before any of that. Now, are you going to tell me if you found what you were looking for?”

The flashdrive looked pathetic when Laurent held out his palm. “I couldn’t look,” he said. “I think…it’s evidence. Uncle used it to make sure none of his men turned against him. Or it could be nothing.”

“Is it a crime to look?”

“No. Not…not like this. You don’t know. We found it.”

“Go sit over there.” Auguste sat behind the desk. He inserted the flash drive, and waited.

“No. You don’t have to. It won’t leave you,” Laurent said.

“I’m your brother. I can do it.”

“But —”

“I’ve fought in wars, Laurent. I’ve done cyber security and surveillance. I’ve seen…I can deal with it.”

Laurent knew his brother well. He couldn’t hide anything. So he kept his eyes focused on Auguste, waiting for the first sign he should rip the computer cord out of the wall.

Auguste was frowning, tapping at the ancient clicky keyboard. “It’s slow,” he said. “And encrypted. Luckily, our great government provided me with the skills to access pretty much anything.” He had wanted to be a trainer, when he decided not to volunteer for another tour, but there weren't any roles available for non-coms. Back then, Laurent knew Auguste sat in front of a screen and had ten million confidentiality agreements. Laurent was too mired in teenage selfishness to consider what was on those screens. Auguste always took his duties seriously and ended casual friendships of Edward Snowden jokes.

Laurent couldn’t ask now, but he vowed to never make fun of his brother’s simple job at the middle school again. Not even to himself.

Considering the work Auguste had done, and the things he must have seen, it was no wonder he wanted a nicer life now.

Auguste’s fingers flew over the keys and then, his face showed he’d gotten somewhere. For someone who always won, Auguste still relished success.

“Images,” Auguste said. “Thumbnails. They’re still loading.”

“Let me see.”

“Wait.” The colour drained from his face. He was like Damen in that way — he never could hide anything. Whatever Auguste could see on the screen was distressing. “You were right,” he said, flatly. “Jesus. I feel sick.”

It had been a while since such a dark cloud of shame had come over Laurent. His brother was sick. If he knew…

“Let me see,” Laurent said, again, fighting through the disgust inside. “I’ll know if…let me see.”

What was happening in the collected images was plain to see. Laurent recognised the men. He recognised the boys by the flash of red hair and the tattoo one had on the side of his neck. Laurent remembered thinking it was tacky. Perhaps discussing that with his uncle. New shame curdled in his stomach. He thought then he was better than those other boys. But that wasn't true. No-one was better in this, except for the fact they were all better than the men who abused them.

Auguste was quickly scrolling through the thumbnails. Who could blame him for wanting this over? Then he was pulling up a new window and running searches that made the modem creak.

“There’s no…” Auguste trailed off.

“What?”

“There’s no blonds, right?”

Every one of Laurent’s muscles seized up. “No,” he said.

“I should have thought of this. Images can go—”

“No,” Laurent said. “It wasn’t…this was just to keep those bastards in line, I know it. Remember, he always insisted on working on a computer that wasn’t connected to the internet?”

Auguste didn’t look up. His mouth was still open in barely concealed horror.

“I need air,” Laurent said.

-  
Outside, he sat on the steps with his chin resting on one of his knees. He couldn’t think about himself right now, even as his own pain was threatening to overtake every part of his brain. What if Auguste was right? And there were pictures of him? What if he used the evidence and his part in this came out? What would people say? Damen wouldn’t look at him like he did now. He wouldn’t trust him with Theo. People would whisper behind his back or, worse, look at him with pity. What if, what if, what if?

His phone chimed.

A snap from Damen - a video of him and Theo playing hide and seek in the apartment. Damen was hiding. Behind a lamp. Theo could not find him, despite the fact Damen was much wider than any lamp.

Laurent couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. Joy in small moments. The existence of happy children in pictures. Good things.

And more importantly : solid evidence against bad men and protection for boys like Nicaise. You had to find solace in small victories, after all.


	8. Chapter 8

The thing about Auguste was that he knew when to leave Laurent alone. Once he’d locked the house, he dropped the flash-drive into Laurent’s waiting hand and said he better get back to Kashel. He didn’t ask what Laurent planned to do. He just squeezed his shoulder and followed his car down the long drive. Anyway, Laurent couldn’t consider his next action for too long anyway. The plan was set. He just had to follow it through.

And he didn’t think holding on to those images was a wise idea.

It wasn’t hard to reach out to Nikandros. Maybe goading him that morning hadn’t been Laurent’s smartest idea. But he never could keep his mouth in check.

They met in the park, on a bench facing the water.

“I must re-iterate that I don’t agree with meeting like this,” Nikandros said, where most people would say hello. Laurent could respect that. He wasn’t really one for small-talk. “We can talk on the phone. We can go for coffee. You could come down to the station.”

All right, Captain Obvious.

“What can I say?” Laurent replied. “I watched a lot of spy movies as a kid.”

“Is that what this is? I know you are working for the firm suing Kastor. If you think cosying up to Damen will strengthen your case you’re wasting your breath. He might be too trusting but I’m not. I won’t let that happen to him again.”

“As touching as your display of friendship is,” Laurent said. “That’s not why I am here. In fact, I’d rather Damen didn’t know.”

“I don’t keep secrets.”

“Admirable.” Laurent clutched the flash drive in his pocket. “Look, Damen told me about the kind of work you do. I did some independent research after learning something peripheral to the case. You should see it. I’m sure you know Guion from the city council and Audin, the accountant —”

“By reputation only, believe me.”

“They feature on these images,” Laurent said, passing the flashdrive to Nikandros.

“I can pass these on to the fraud squad,” Nikandros said. “I assume this is to do with the case.”

“No, they are for your department. Be careful where you open them. It’s explicit. The boys are very young.”

“I see. Are you going to tell me how you came across this?” Ever the professional, Nikandros had barely flinched.

“No. You’ve gotten them from an anonymous source.”

“Right. And have you considered the repercussions?”

Laurent could not explain his convoluted plan to use these to both to the right thing and save Damen from being drawn back into his brother’s legal mess. Nikandros wouldn’t get it. Laurent was not obliged to win brownie points from Damen’s friends.

“Yes,” he replied. “My only request is that if you keep me informed if there’s anything that can be linked back to me or my family.”

“Didn’t they take the bait?”

“Who?”

“These powerful men with secrets to hide,” Nikandros said. “This would be a very good blackmail tool.”

“I believe that’s why they were created in the first place. Naturally enough,I don’t want to do anything that a pedophile would do” That was Laurent’s uncle’s intention. He never wanted to be anything like his uncle. “This is the right thing to do.”

Nikandros nodded once, gruffly. It was the kind of nod Auguste shared with other soldiers when he passed them in the street.

“I’ll look into it,” he said and left. Laurent stayed watching the swans on the water.

-  
He knew enough of police proceedings to not expect results right away. At the office, the case was all anyone could talk about. They had more clients in the action, which meant more paperwork, more investigations, and thankfully more delays before depositions. Torveld was wrangling with Kastor’s lawyers over access to some engineer’s report. Laurent could do nothing but throw himself into his own work - going through their data with a fine-toothed comb to find some irrefutable proof the people of Delpha were truly the injured party as result of Kastor’s company’s actions.

It was complicated. It was humdrum. Laurent would often let his mind wander while he was sticking sign here stickers to document - sometimes to pleasant thoughts of Damen. Other times to that boy Nicaise. He’d made some effort to trace him via the plaintiff records. But what could he say? If some stranger had reached out to Laurent at that age, he would have denied denied denied.

-

  
Because everyone had been working so hard on the Akielos case, Torveld had taken to ordering in food for the staff. Well, he handed over the company credit card to Talik and reminded her of the limit. She tended to order too much and never ask anyone what they actually wanted. Pizzas had pineapple. The curry was not made for white people palates. One day the sandwich fillings were so bizarre the place called to see if there had been a mistake. Next time, the sandwiches were painfully plain.

“I can’t eat pork,” Jord said. “It’s on the form!”

“I know,” replied Laurent, who did not know. And at this stage it would be rude to ask him his religion.

“I’m lactose intolerant.” Orlant wrinkled his nose at the butter spread.

“You ate pizza.”

“I’ll risk it for pizza,” he replied.

“No-one’s hungry today, folks, eh?” Torveld said. “You have to keep your strength up while we go through this last push.” He chomped enthusiastically on a meatball sub. Laurent had been clever enough to ask Talik to order him the Three Grain Salad ® which, while tasty and filling, made him question who allowed that trademark through.

“Are there plans for another big meeting?” Laurent asked. “I can lead, if you’re busy.” He needed the experience for his next job. He hoped Nicaise would turn up again. Or he could speak to all the ladies old enough to be grandmothers until he identified the boy.

“There’s no need until we find something new,” Torveld replied. “Jord, it’s not like you not eat.”

“Everything has pork,” he replied.

“Talik is so busy,” Laurent added. “It’s really not fair to put our lunch choices on her, too.”

“She’s the secretary.”

“She works front desk,” Laurent said. “Which is still being flooded since the ad ran. I can do the orders in future. I am the most junior, after all.”

“And the biggest suck up,” Orlant muttered.

“Only if you have time.”

“Of course.” Laurent did not have that much time. But he had a burning desire to keep busy. Not to mention the need to impress Torveld enough that he would keep this job and get a good reference for his next job.

“Good. Good. You should take the leftovers home, too,” Torveld said. “Some of these haven’t been touched and I hate waste.”

“Why don’t you take them? Does your room have a kitchen?”

“Not much fits in the mini-fridge,” Torveld said. “And the brat of a neighbour keeps claiming there are mice in the facility so I wouldn’t want to chance it.”

Laurent really had no need for several leftover sandwiches, salads and sides. Nor could he see why the company was buying lunch for staff and making one of the partners stay somewhere so seedy.

“Jord…” Laurent said.

“How many times do I have to say I don’t eat pork?”

“Oh my God, there’s none in the salads or sides. And look, there are three tuna,” Laurent snapped.

“I don’t like fish. Or mayonnaise.”

“Worse than a child, he is,” said Orlant.

“Seriously, Laurent,” Torveld said. “Take them home. Between work and your little one, I am sure you don’t have much time to cook.”

“Right. Thank you.”

-  
He called Damen in the stairwell. They messaged a lot. Damen kept Laurent up to speed on his day through many detailed snapchat videos. But sometimes, a phone call was nice. There was something comforting about the sound of Damen’s voice; something freeing about speaking to the one person knew his current biggest secret.

“Do you have you dinner plans?” Laurent asked.

“Hi. I’m good, thanks for asking. Oh, that’s just Theo in the background pretending to be a moocow.”

“Hello, Damen.” He made no effort to keep the annoyance from his voice. Somehow, though, it came out like amusement.

“Who’s this?”

“Debt collectors.”

“I have no assets. Just the boy/cow hybrid who’s pretending to eat the carpet. No, he’s actually chewing the tassles. Theo, stop.” Damen’s voice, everything about him was so light. Laurent’s cheeks were full from smiling hard.

“Want to bring him out among actual grass this evening? Or afternoon, rather. Is four evening or afternoon?”

“Afternoon. Like afternoon tea.”

“Is that speciality of yours?” Laurent turned his back at the sound of a door opening. “Yes,” he said, as footsteps passed him out. “I understand. We can get the documents by Thursday morning at the latest and … sorry Damen.”

“Ah, office life. So what are you suggesting?”

“Well, I did say next date would be my choice. And treat,” Laurent said. “So…can I pick you up in a couple of hours?”

“Both of us?”

“No. I am sure if you leave Theo food and water, maybe turn the tv and hide the matches, on it will be fine.”

Silence.

“Of course both of you,” Laurent said.

“I’ll find the spare car seat.”

-  
Laurent had it all planned. He raided Auguste’s garage and bought fancy soft drinks and some sad sugar free juice for Theo. He even looked online for the best way to set it up while Jord and Orlant were arguing about hockey. But by the time he pulled up outside Damen’s building, ever on the lookout for the frightful Jokaste, fat drops of rain plopped on to his windscreen. The sky was dark. His weather app, which he only just thought to check, said there was ninety percent chance of rain for the rest of the evening.

Regretfully, he called Damen.

“Hey, it’s starting to pour,” Laurent began.

“I can hear it. Where are you? I can pick you up if you don’t like driving in the rain.”

“I’m outside your block,” Laurent said. A new plan started to form . “But I think we need an actual raincheck because of this weather. Can I come up?”

“You know the code.”

Laurent was rather laden down by the time he knocked on Damen’s door. He thrust one of the shopping bags at Damen once he opened the door and surveyed the space.

“Right,” he said. “I thought we could have one last picnic before the weather changed for Winter. But the rain had other ideas. So we’re taking it indoors. Theo! Come help me with the blanket.”

“He’s one,” said Damen. "He can barely help himself off the sofa."

“Never to early to learn.” Laurent went a bit red though. Maybe it was the way Damen was looking at him — head slightly tilted, eyes soft and a pull around his mouth somewhere between fondness and exasperation. “Anyway, don’t get flattered. I do owe you an outing of some sort. We had a bunch of leftover food at work.”

“Your work has elderflower and ginger lemonade?” Damen looked at the glass bottle as if it was expensive wine. “And a cashmere picnic blanket?”

“My blanket and I can leave,” Laurent threatened.

“I have to check on the laundry.”

Damen ducked out of sight, which gave Laurent a tiny window to transform the living space into a picnic space. Theo turned his head from the television when Laurent and his supplies clattered in.

“Mama?” Theo said.

“Hello, Theo. It’s me, Laurent.” He still felt vaguely stupid speaking to Theo when it wasn’t clear just how much a child of his age understood. or that he would appear to be quoting Adele and/or Lionel Ritchie. “Can you say Laurent?” He pushed back the sofas and turned off the tv.

“La …. La…”

“Go on.”

“Lama?”

“Let’s get this set up for us and Daddy.” Laurent was a little deflated. But Theo enjoyed spreading out the blanket and throwing the throw cushions on the floor. Laurent set out the food, closed the curtains and threw a scarf over the lamp for atmosphere.

“Dada go behind.” Theo pointed at the lamp.

“Shall I hide, too?” It was easier than sitting on the floor, waiting for Damen to join them. He was starting to feel a little embarrassed that this was the best he could come up with. Surely, there was a steakhouse or event Damen would prefer for a date. Something at a sportsground, perhaps? 

For Theo’s amusement, Laurent exaggerated his movements and stepped behind the lamp. He may not have been as broad of shoulder as Damen but he was not skinnier than a lamppost. Theo giggled and the sound tore into Laurent’s heart. Was there anything more joyful than a little kid laughing? It was nice, that nothing word again. It was painful, because it reminded him of Nicaise who he wanted so badly to help but wasn’t sure if he himself was strong enough. Good enough.

Theo joined Laurent behind the lamp. He wasn’t small enough to be concealed either.

“We could use the curtains,” Laurent suggested as he extended his arms to see if Theo wanted to be picked up. “Or the door. Or shall we hunker  
down behind the couch?”

“Well,” Damen announced from the archway. “Where are my boys?”

“Gone!” Theo shouted.

“Gone where?” Damen looked under the newspaper. Of course he still read the broadsheet newspaper. He peaked behind the television and inside Theo’s toybox, while Theo skitted in Laurent’s arms all the while.

“Gone with Lama!”

“Lama?” Damen raised one eyebrow.

“I tried to get him to say Laurent.”

“Hush!” Theo put his chubby little hand over Laurent’s mouth. “Dada can’t hear.”

“I can see you, though.” Damen closed the few feet between them and grabbed Theo’s waist. “And I can find you.” He tickled Theo briefly and then threw him over his shoulder. “Gotcha,” he murmured in Laurent’s ear. “You’re terrible at hiding.”

“Who said I was trying?” Laurent suppressed shivers. The good kind. He normally suffered from the bad kind of shivers. “Maybe I just like the game.”

“Maybe we could play more later.”

Laurent’s stomach flipped. In the good way. His skin was warm. Then Theo started to wriggle and Damen deposited him on the nearest cushion.

“So,” Laurent said, somewhat awkwardly. “Indoor picnic?”

“Best idea I’ve heard in yonks.”

“In what?”

“Ages, sweetheart. Now stop or I will change my mind. Or worse, use minute as a lengthy measure of time.”

Damen was smiling as he folded his rather large body onto the blanket. Theo immediately scrambled onto his lap. They ate with their hands and played silly games with Theo. Laurent almost allowed himself to enjoy the goodness of this moment and the taste of things to come.

He thought of the people who would be proud of him. Auguste. The people at the centre. His mother.  
-

Friday evening, as the streetlights flickered on, Nikandros’s number flashed up on Laurent’s phone. Unexpected. So unexpected watched the screen and didn’t answer. They weren’t friends. Not even close. And Laurent had asked Nikandros to let him know if there was anything on that memory stick that could be related to him.

So the first thing he thought of was that…it was all about to be linked back to him.

It’s not like he or Auguste looked too closely. There could be anything there really.

In the spirit of being a mature adult, he made himself call back. He’d rolled the dice with handing over the drive. He’d made his choice. What happened now was outside his control. (They said, in the centre, that he had to learn to cope with his desire to control everything. He was trying)

“You called me,” Laurent said. No greeting.

“You told me to,” Nikandros replied. “This is me keeping you in the loop. My team are on the way to arrest those men now. They have warrants to seize their electronic devices and one man’s wife has given a statement. The evidence is irrefutable.”

“And?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“You didn’t find anything that could be linked back to me?”

“No.”

“All right.”

“That’s not the only reason I called,” Nikandros said. “This is going to go public right away. The prosecutors are already chomping on the bit and they will release it to the press. You can tell your boss. I know you need to make your job work for you.”

“He’s gone home for the weekend.” Laurent couldn’t understand why Nikandros would do this for him.

“Call him,” he replied. “And when you’re done, call Damen. You can tell him what’s going on. Once it hits the news, the links to Akielos will come out. He deserves to know. Don’t make him find out on Facebook. Or worse, through Jokaste.”

“Fine. Thank you.” He hung up before the conversation got too personal. Laurent wasn’t big into having too many people in his inner circle.

Auguste, Kashel and Damen were more than enough.

First, he messaged Damen to arrange to meet up. He wasn’t taking the cowardly option. Then, he called Torveld and relayed the information. Torveld was a little peeved at being contacted during his time off until he realised the significance of the development. This kind of publicity associated with Kastor could turn the tide in their favour. And, all right, casually dropping that he had a contact in the police force who told him first was pretty cool.

Then, Laurent took a moment to appreciate the fact that two disgusting abusers who thought money and power could protect them were about to face justice. Just a moment. He didn’t want to keep Damen waiting.

-  
It was Damen’s idea to go over to Laurent’s apartment. Laurent wasn’t entirely comfortable with having anyone inside his place, but he wasn’t willing to refuse Damen now. Damen had dropped hints that he would like to spent time with Laurent without the danger of Theo (or Jokaste), well, ruining the mood. The selfish part of Laurent wondered if they could get some alone time in before he broke the news of the arrests to Damen.

He nipped that in the bud, quickly. It wouldn’t be right.

Nerves were natural, as he showed Damen inside the small apartment. He was about to inform him of some very unpleasant connections to his family business. But the way his heart was beating was not unpleasant, like his body had found some way to take pleasure in the small act of leading Damen into his living room. The apartment was on the second floor of a converted American Foursquare, with most of the wooden beams on the ceiling and wall still intact. He thought Damen would appreciate the original architecture. It was a homely space; perfect for Laurent’s limited needs. It had come furnished and the only thing he really brought was an antique table of his mother’s which Damen zeroed in on straight away.

There was a new quality to his voice as he crouched to his knees to examine the piece. “Is this…”

“Yes, a Launnier. It was my mother’s. She was clever enough to leave it to me in her will. Once …”

“What?”

“When Auguste was deployed, my uncle took control of my parents estate. And custody of me. He would have sold this if it hadn’t specified I get it. Her family’s owned it forever.”

“Do you know what it’s worth?”

“More or less.”

Damen ran a reverent hand along the table’s finely carved edge. The legs were engraved with laurels. That’s why his mother had given it to him. He a reading lamp on it. He thought she would have known he would do that.

“They have some pieces in the White House,” Damen said. “I had to take some furniture courses in college. We went to the Met. And there was a piece in my own town all along. Did Auguste have it before you got settled? No, I would have noticed.”

“My mother gifted him her sports car,” Laurent said. “And her engagement ring, which Kashel now wears. Even then, I was vocal about my disinterest in marrying a woman.” He decided not to tell Damen the table had spent some time in storage. Laurent thought he had wrapped it pretty well, but that time period was a bit of a blur. “Now, if you can tear yourself away from the antiques have a seat on the Ikea couch and I’ll get us something to drink. Beer, ok? Or wine? I might have some …”

“I thought you didn’t really drink.”

“I occasionally drink socially so people don’t ask me probing questions,” Laurent said. “And I’m a good host. Or I hope I am. You’re the first person I’ve had over. The first person I’ve ever invited over, pretty much ever.” In college and law school, he’d known people to swap study notes or whatever. But he’d never bothered much to get to know anyone well. Certainly, there was no-one before Damen that would had Laurent considering what to offer him to drink when he’d gone grocery shopping earlier this week.

“Beer, please,” Damen said.

“I have options.”

Damen followed him to the refrigerator and a Stella. Laurent poured himself a Diet Coke, because it felt more social than water.

“Do you have a bottle opener?”

“It doesn’t twist off?”

“Not these kind.”

“Shit. No. Let me think…”

Damen held the bottle against the edge of the countertop smacked it, and the bottle cap bounced off the floor.

“Damn,” said Laurent. He was impressed. God, he had it bad if that impressed him. It’s just that Damen was so handsome and so strong and capable that it triggered some dormant part of his brain.

“You gotta learn to improvise,” Damen replied, grinning. He was showing off. Maybe that was how he flirted.

“I’m excellent at improvisation. Ask Auguste about the time we went camping.” There was an incident where some cretin had insulted Auguste’s uniform. With the help of a borrowed truck, a trio of older lesbians and a stolen dress Laurent had gotten sweet revenge. “I was just thinking I’m never letting you near my mother’s table.”

“I would never disrespect that,” Damen said, seriously. He was standing very close now.

“We should sit down.”

“Don’t say we need to talk.”

“We do. But…not like that.” Ordinarily, Laurent was gifted with words. Now he could barely string two together. “I want to tell you something.”

“I’m listening.”

“It’s not about me.”

“All right.”

“Earlier this evening, two men you might know were arrested,” Laurent said. “Audin the accountant and Councillor Guion.”

“Right.” Damen’s grip on his bottle was tight, his knuckles white.

“It wasn’t fraud or bribery or anything,” he stressed. Because Laurent couldn’t find the proof of that. “There exists video and picture evidence of them engaging in sexual acts with minors.”

“They went to my father’s funeral,” Damen said. “They shook my hand. Are you sure…”

“Yes.” He wasn’t offended by the question. Disbelief was a natural reaction. “I’ve seen it.”

“You’ve seen…” Confusion etched across Damen’s face.

“I found them. It was nothing to do with the case, though I was aware of the connection,” Laurent said. “I passed them on to Nikandros. He told me about the arrests.”

“Now I know why he offered to watch Theo. I thought he was just playing wingman.”

“He was very insistent I be the one to tell you. Before it hits the news.”

“Right. Right.” Damen shook his head. “Minors? Like…” He was probably still trying to water it down in his head. A seventeen year old girl, maybe, who looked older and lived the life of an older woman.

“Young boys.”

“That’s disgusting.”

They said, at the centre, _you don’t need to feel shame for what happened to you. Even if you thought you consented. Even if…_

Laurent hadn’t quite mastered that coping mechanism. It was like being told you don’t need to blush when you feel embarassed.

“I know,” he said.

“Wait, you and Nik had this all worked out. Behind my back. You don’t even like each other.”

“Harsh,” said Laurent. “He doesn’t know me well enough to dislike me.”

“This isn’t funny.” Damen pushed up from the sofa. “He’s my friend. You’re my…I thought we had something.”

“We do. This…” Laurent pushed through the hurt. He saw what Damen was doing. “I’m no Jokaste,” he said. “This wasn’t some scheme. It was the right thing for me to do.” He made his voice cool. Detatched. Emotion could ruin things.

“Those men have a long association with Akielos. You think that won’t make the papers?”

“You don’t work there anymore.”

“My father’s name is still on the masthead, Laurent! That’s my son’s name now. I’ve drank brandy with those men.”

“Your anger is mis-placed,” Laurent said.

“I’m not angry at you.”

“You’re shouting. I have neighbours.”

“I’m angry they … they exist. This is happening. It’s despicable. And the association…I really need to hit something right now.” Damen was pacing. “Oh my God,” he said.

“What?”

“I met Audin at a luncheon not too long ago. He held Theo.”

Damen looked to be on the verge of punching the wall. Later, Laurent would take a moment to appreciate the disgust was aimed at the appropriate place. He would chase away the knowledge that the identity of some of the boys might temper that. To hurt Theo was unthinkable to a man like Damen, but all boys were like Theo once. In the images, the tumble of red hair had belonged to a boy named Ancel. He advertised on Backpage, then. He’d since graduated to porn. But he was a boy, then and once.

“Keep going.” Laurent stood in front of Damen.

“What?”

“Get if off your chest. Hit —”

“Don’t you dare say I should hit you,” Damen growled.

Laurent couldn’t say that he was not. He didn’t court pain. But he often felt he deserved it.

“You haven’t gotten the tour yet,” he said. “Wanna play with my punching bag?”

-

Damen followed Laurent through the small space with a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“Bedroom. Bathroom. Storage closet. Weird door that used to lead to the attic. Ghost corner.” Laurent pointed his way down the hall. “Second bedroom,” he said. “But it’s pretty much empty.”

He didn’t have a second bed. Nor was he likely to have guests. It could be an office or a study, if Laurent wasn’t the type to do any work on his laptop on the couch.

Right now it housed a mat, a bluetooth speaker and a punching bag hung from the ceiling in a way that probably annihilated his security deposit.

“You box?” Damen said.

“I often have pent up frustration,” Laurent replied, slipping his jacket from his shoulders.

“Yeah.” Damen was standing close again, and the way he looked at Laurent made him feel closer. “Me too.”

“Want me to hold it? There are wraps in the corner.”

“Do you fight?”

“No,” said Laurent. “Too many people want to hit me for that. When I was younger, I took it upon myself to learn self defense. I liked this part best and kept it up.”

“It is it more of an endurance thing?”

“Maybe.I don’t know.” Laurent stood behind the bag. It was a little easier to be open when he was hidden from Damen. “I do know,” he said. “I tend to take on physically or mentally punishing pursuits.”

“Me too. Well, more physical.” Damen examined his hands, and positioned himself in front of the leather punching bag.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Hold on. If you move it, I might hit you.”

Laurent nodded. “You’re calm now.”

“Not really.” Between punches. He was strong. The force of his impact on the bag rang through Laurent’s body. “I tend to fly into rages. I’m working on that.”

“I am sorry for this,” Laurent said.

“Me too.” His hits got faster, fiercer. Damen approached it like someone on auto-pilot. You’d never know he was feeling anything if not for the rapid movement of his arms, the shuddering blows of strength flowing into Laurent’s body. “I beat Kastor. Pretty badly,” Damen said. “That’s partly why he got the company so easily. I didn’t see that he was goading me. I fell into his trap.”

“He certainly did enough to warrant it.”

“No-one deserves it.”

“Are you just saying that because it’s the right thing to say?”

Damen cracked a little smile. “I take pleasure in the fact his nose will never look the same. He had our father’s nose. Not anymore.” The next punch nearly knocked Laurent off his feet. Damen didn’t slow down. His pace was steady, raw, verging on wild. It took a high level of fitness, or rage, to maintain that. Damen had both, hidden under his dad t-shirt.

“You’ll hurt your hand,” Laurent said.

“It’s fine.”

“Trust me. Bruised knuckles and broken fingers won’t go down well at Mommy and Me.”

Damen unleashed one last ferocious punch and pulled back, panting. He drank the rest of his beer, which he had brought in with him, in one long gulp.

“Laurent.” There was a stricken tone to his voice. He looked up from where he had bent over with a strange look in his eyes.

“There was an expensive leather punching bag between us. You didn’t hurt me.”

“How did you find that stuff? The pictures…”

“I can’t —”

“Was it Auguste?”

“He’d never use his powers for evil and you know it.” Laurent could not step out from behind the bag.

“How —”

“I can’t,” he said, again. He couldn’t talk about this. Not with Damen. Not at all. He summoned a steady voice from deep within his chest, a voice he’d learned in the centre. “I’m not comfortable talking about this. Please stop.”

“Laurent…” Trailing off, helpless. Laurent praying Damen would respect his wishes. “Want me to hold it while you go?”

Oh.

“Why not?”

His work shirt was fitted. Most of his clothes were fitted. So he stripped off to his undershirt, wondering why he liked when Damen looked at him. There was a difference, he had been told, between objectifying someone or acknowledging and admiring them. He was learning that. Still, he was unusually self-conscious approaching the mat in his black wool socks. Laurent was lean, fast and strong enough for a life-long bookworm.

He was generally all right with that. But Damen was raw strength and the epitome of masculine sex appeal. He was the Thor to Laurent’s Loki (you know, without the whole brothers thing), the Chris Hemsworth to his Tom Hiddleston. He would probably think Laurent was weak and ineffective when he saw the quick, purposeful way he punched.

Laurent launched right in. He was, after all, impulsive and never one to let his nerves hold him back. He acted as if he was alone, or with Auguste, falling into his usual quick rhythm.

“What?” He said, when he caught sight of Damen’s expression.

“You’re good.”

“Yes.” Secretly pleased. “How’s the rage?”

“Distracted,” Damen said. “I still wish you would have told me.”

“I…I wouldn’t do it like that again.” He switched angles, and felt the surprise radiated from Damen at the impact. “I wouldn’t have done it all but —”

“No, you were right. Nik is —”

“I’m not that selfless.” His breathing was growing shallow. He could feel the strain in his upper arms that came from not stretching. “I never  
thought I would do any of this,” he said. “I …had an uncle. That’s how I knew what to find. Don’t ask me anything else.”

Damen nodded, three slow movements of his head. “You can come back with me tonight if you want,” he said.”But if you would rather be alone, that’s cool too.”

“I thought…Yes, I mean, if it’s all right with Theo there and everything. After…”

“It’s more than all right,” Damen said.

Each word seeped in Laurent’s veins and worked their way along to his heart, where they did something that felt like cracks stitching back together.

“I should change,” Laurent said.

“Sure. Maybe bring your gear and come along to Soccer Saturday, too.” Damen smiled with one side of his mouth. “But I reckon Nik owes me at least another hour of babysitting. And I need to let that beer get through my system before I drive. You have a kettle, right?”

Damen made tea in Laurent’s kitchen and talked some more about the antique table. He had lots to say about interiors, which was a nice surprise. Laurent, wrongly, had assumed Damen’s work was more about bricks and mortar than what went inside. But he could talk at length, and with captivating intelligent detail, about light and angles. He continued this as they left Laurent’s apartment and drove towards his house. It was a kindness — to offer this easy flow of words when Laurent most needed not be pressured but also not to be alone. Damen pointed out the original gothic windows in a former convent/current hipster cafe. He showed Laurent the flat roof of a gym he helped his friend renovate.

“You’re driving the long way home,” Laurent said.

“There’s one more thing I was hoping to show you. Well, two, actually. But one is enough for tonight.”

“All right,” said Laurent. The street lights zipped by. Or rather, the car zipped by the artificial lights making them blur into one jagged white line.  
Laurent rested his head against the cool leather seats, marvelling at the fact he wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop. Damen hadn’t ran away.

He still wanted Laurent around.

“When I was in college, I had to do an apprenticeship in an architecture firm,” Damen said. “The plan was always for me to work for my father but it didn’t seem right to avail of that for my placement. Nepotism or whatever. And this other firm, Isthima, is mad innovative. They’ve won major awards and it was a big deal that they hired me.”

“I bet places were lining up to have you,” Laurent said.

Damen turned down a road Laurent had never seen before. “They were working on the restoration of this old flour mill so it could be converted into a community space. It was so exciting.”

Laurent suppressed a fond smile, lest Damen think he was making fun of him. It was just so endearing that this this man who belonged in underwear ads got excited about old buildings.

“Thrilling, I’m sure.” Whatever. He was still Laurent.

“Shut up. It was. It’s right up here,” Damen said. “Hey, do you know what the Statue of Liberty is made of?”

“A quiz?”

“Do you?”

“Iron,” Laurent guessed.

“Copper,” Damen said. “Just like the cladding here on the mill. Do you see it? The lines are incredible, right? It looks like part of the landscape.”

“It’s green.”

“Yes.”

“I feel like you’re saying something bigger here,” Laurent admitted. “Perhaps I am green. I’m starting my career years after my peers. I’m completely out my depth when it comes to dating. But, Damen, I assure you I am not some delicate flower.”

“Well,” said Damen. “Maybe on of those plants filled with deadly poison. Nightbloom or whatever.”

“Nightshade.”

“See? You know that. I’m coming to you when I need to hide the bodies.” He gave a little chuckle. “Now stop jumping to conclusions and let me speak. What colour do you think of when you think of copper?”

“Copper colour,” Laurent said. “Rust. Rose gold. Pinterest kitchens.”

“Exactly. But when we put up this cladding here, we knew it would soon be green. It’s the weather that does it. As a concept, it’s not for everyone. It’s more common in Europe. A lot of people here don’t get why you would choose something knowing that it would weather like that,” Damen said. “Plumbers tell you to watch out for it in your pipes.”

“You like it,” Laurent said.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Say…” His voice was so small. “Say it anyway. Pretend you’re talking to Theo.”

“Well, it’s visually striking. One of the most energy friendly materials. And…” Damen turned to look at Laurent. His eyes were very warm. “I don’t see the changes as the building being tarnished. It’s the closest it can get to breathing. I know it sounds silly but, I look at something like this and maybe it’s how other people feel looking at some fancy ass painting. Like it means something.”

“That’s not silly at all,” Laurent said. He was rather fascinated by this depth to Damen. “Is it like…the nature of how things evolve. Caterpillars. Humans.”

“Not exactly. I mean, yes, but to me it’s like making something beautiful out of something raw,” Damen said. “When waves make those gorgeous white cliffs. But it’s different with these raw materials. It’s …”

“Go on.”

“When something is technically damaged or distressed,” Damen said. “But someone makes something out of it. And it stands here like a big old fuck you to convention. It’s beautiful in it’s own right. More special and interesting than the most expensive marble. It does what people do. Perseverance or whatever.” Damen pushed his hair back, a nervous action. Laurent wanted to personally murder whoever had made him feel like this was not something he should talk about. “Does that make sense?”

In truth, Laurent appreciated different types of art and rarely thought about raw metals at all, unless perhaps they were formed into a nice watch. But Damen’s perspective was so uniquely beautiful and the sincerity behind did funny things to his chest.

“You make more sense than anyone I’ve ever met,” Laurent said. “If more people followed your lead, our world wouldn’t suck so much.”

“True,” said Damen, who was not modest. “But then we wouldn’t have good secrets as well as bad.”

“Good secrets? I think that’s an oxymoron.”

“Liar.”

“Yes. Insult me. That is the way to my heart.”

“You’re incredibly private,” Damen said. “And your secrets can’t all be bad. I know mine are not.”

“Will you —” Laurent’s throat was full of blades.

“We do renovations,” Damen said. “Knocking things down. Building them up.”

“Moving things around until they fit,” Laurent said. He’d brought his hand unconsciously to his chest. Because he felt the words there and knew that was Damen’s own secret. His heart was expanding. His muscles and bones making room for new things.

“It’s exciting. Personal.” He glanced at the building one last time. “Like waiting for the old finish to weather away and you know there’s something brighter underneath.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Well,” said Damen. “The current look is pretty cool, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, commenting, and being the best people on the internet <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : This chapter contains some non-explicit references to CSA and direct references to grooming. Further details in end notes if you want to take precautions  
> Also a 'lil bit NSFW

Nothing gets people talking like a political sex scandal. As minor as Guion was in the grand scheme of things, he had power in this town and that meant something. Audin wasn’t an elected official but he was old and white and moneyed and rubbed shoulders with various important people. The arrests were front page news. The tone of the news, however, wasn’t exactly winning Laurent over. Sex sells, paedophilia disgusts.

These were trusted,esteemed men. It would be too much for most minds to comprehend that they were also disgusting abusers. The reporters glossed over the more nefarious facts and Laurent processed this as fact. One comfort, it would all come out eventually.

Second comfort, he spent most of the weekend holed up with Damen. Theo was nearly able to say Laurent’s name now. He mostly chose not to, though.

Third comfort, Torveld burst into the office. “It’s happening,” he announced.

“He’s like a walking meme,” Orlant muttered.

“What’s happening?” Laurent asked.

“They’re spooked by the pedo association. They want to push the court date. Trial starts next week,” he said.

“Are we ready?” Jord said.

“We will be.”

So Laurent had no more time for Damen, even though they’d loose plans to go for a drive somewhere Damen wanted to show him, some day this week. Laurent ate, slept and breathed this damned case until the days rolled into one another. His mind was filled with case notes and precedent and statements and the feeling like this was his one shot to fix things for himself, for those people and maybe for Damen a little bit, too.

Everyone was putting in the hours, not just Laurent. Torveld was surviving on coffee and hatred for his motel neighbour. Orlant and Jord bickered like an old married couple. They had to get their facts in order, know the caselaw and prepare for any curveballs that came their way. Some of the plaintiffs weren’t exactly gifted at explaining their situation. Some of them were worried that they had been bending the law before the developers came along. And it was no secret that Kastor’s lawyers were more experienced and, well, more expensive than Patras and Patras.

Laurent’s initial assignment here was analysing the many official documents that had come their way regarding the case. Client contracts, planning applications, tenders, flyers and everything in between. He had the kind of mind for detailed work. He did it well.

It was only by chance, that he showed his skill for picking apart the other side. It wasn’t an element of himself he felt any particular way about.

At the centre, they’d said it was a survival skill just as those times he had learned to be play along with his uncle were. Certainly, it had benefited him in the past (and gained him Auguste’s disapproval.) Torveld was thrilled with Laurent’s ability to tear through the opposing side’s players and stories and since he was the one to find the Guion pattern and break the news of the arrests, he had gained an element on infamy about the office.

At least people stopped asking him mindless questions. And avoided him in the elevator.

He had found several obvious ways to discredit Kastor when they went to court.

He hoped the bastard squirmed. He deserved it for what he did to Damen.

During lunch one day, when Laurent was the only one in the communal workspace, the receptionist Talik who had been the very first person he’d met here wandered in. Laurent hadn’t learned her name and it was too late now to ask, so he’d taken to calling her sunshine or sweetheart when he arrived in the dark early mornings and she was blearily turning on the coffee machine. Laurent had never quite mastered it and he wasn’t about to admit that he couldn’t make his own coffee now.

Today, the receptionist looked a little unsure. That was new. She generally spent her time manning the phones and screwing up lunch orders.  
Laurent experienced a momentary panic that this was perhaps some attempt at seduction. He’d assumed telling Heckle and Jekkyl that he was gay would be enough to make sure everyone knew. But maybe Orlant and Jord weren’t gossips. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal here. Or anymore.

“What brings you to the dungeon?” Laurent asked, peering over his computer screen.

“I was looking for you.”

Shit. Laurent didn’t have the ability to let people down gently. He didn’t normally feel bad about it either. Since he turned thirteen, he’d been subjected to unwanted attention from various unwelcome sources. Turns out, apart from the times he decided to exploit that to his own advantage, Damen was the only one Laurent wanted to receive that kind of attention from. What made him feel dirty and small from anyone else made him feel special and alive with Damen.

Perhaps he could just casually slip the fact he had…he didn’t really know what he had with Damen. Something new and thrilling and wonderful.

“Can I help you with something?” Laurent asked, brightly. What would Auguste do? He’d mention Kashel. Damen had dealt remarkably well with him lying about being Theo’s father. He could live with this premature declaration. “I’ve got ten minutes before I have to call my boyfriend.”

“Um, ok.” She pulled a strange face. “You don’t need to do that. I don’t care if you have a boyfriend. Or a baby. I’ve got wife.”

Great. Way to jump the gun.

“Don’t sweat it,” she continued. “I show that card at least once a day with the people who come through this office. Oh, Talik, let me take you out somewhere nice. Oh, Talik would your wife let me watch? Couriers and fancy-ass lawyers. They’re all the same.”

“Quite,” said Laurent.

“Someone left this at the desk. It was weird. Hand addressed and I’m pretty sure they paid some kid to leave it in,” she said. “So I thought I’d give it to you personally.” In her hand was a thick padded envelope which she passed to Laurent.

Right. Laurent needed to be normal. It was important to make a good impression on everyone in the firm, not just the senior lawyers. He could do this. He was mother-ducking swan when he had to be. So even though his heart was rattling his ribcage, he was the picture of poise and grace in front of the receptionist. Long ago, he’d mastered the art of holding paper so not show his hands were shaking. Still came in handy, though this situation was nowhere near as fucked-up as being summoned to read Whitman aloud to his uncle.

“So what’s the deal?” The receptionist asked.

“Don’t you have phones to answer?” Laurent had the envelope crushed against his chest. There was something inside - a phone? By now, his uncle would know about Guion and Audin getting arrested. He wouldn’t know, presuming Nikandros as decent at his job as Damen believed him to be at being a friend, that the arrests were linked to Laurent. But he might guess. He might want his own insurance.

He was always one step ahead of the game.

“I knew you were pretending to nice,” Talik replied. She didn’t sound offended though.

“I was not. I was being appropriately social and friendly in the workplace.”

“Are you pretending to be human, too?”

Laurent glanced down at the envelope. It was addressed to him. Probably

**_Laurent with the blond hair,_** it said. Printed in Sharpie with what looked like a child’s effort to be neat.

“A child left this in?” Laurent tore open the envelope.

“You weren’t here. He got spooked and left pretty quick once reception got busy,” Talik said. “And he stole my Sharpie.”

“What did he look like?” He emptied out the contents — a phone and a folded piece of paper.

“Looked like a cherub. Talked like a streetrat. Blue eyes…wait —” Her brown eyes sparkled. “You said you had a kid. He —”

“Nope. Wrong train of thought, lady.”

“Is it a Beyonce thing?” Talik pressed while Laurent waited for the phone to turn on.

“Excuse me?”

“Becky with the good hair. Are you a homewrecker? Is that why —”

“I got the reference. I’m just not entertaining it,” Laurent replied. “I’m nobody’s sidepiece. This is evidence,” he continued. Now that he was  
confident of its origins he could rely on his ability to be authoritative again. “To do with the big case. So if you’ll excuse me…”

Talik smiled like that one Olympic girl from a few years back.

“I was on the high school wrestling team,” she said.

“Is that a threat? I’m not really a fan of physical violence.”

“I was on the all-male high school wrestling team. Made the senior squad my Freshman year,” she continued. “It was a bit controversial but the star wrestler took my side. He gave a rousing speech during an all school assembly. He had this way of convincing people, you know? Especially after he was voted Homecoming King four years running.”

“Fascinating,” said Laurent, who could see where this was going.

“Everyone in our school loved Damen, We’re still Facebook friends. His kid is really cute.”

“Are you making a point here?”

“Yes,” she said. “Don’t be a dick. The whole world’s not out to get you. If I wanted, I could have brought this up long ago.”

Laurent nodded. “Thank you for dropping in the package. I…if you called, I would have gotten it myself. I will in future.” Be an adult, Laurent. “I won’t call you condescending nicknames in future, either.”

“All right,” Talik said. “So, tell me, is it true what they say about Damen?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

A pointed smirk and Laurent did know what she meant.

“The entire girls volleyball team was in love with him,” Talik said. “At least two of them had the best deflowering a girl could ever hope for. And then there was the opposing wrestling team. His roommates couldn’t get into their shared room for six hours one time when one of the rivals nearly bet Damen in the ring.”

Laurent fastened a cool look upon Talik. To her credit she did not shrink away. Curiosity about Damen’s past, his supposed prowess in the bedroom, was flaring. Laurent was qual parts irritated and intrigued. Another time perhaps, he could enjoy knowing these things. Not now.

“Do you honestly expect me to gossip with you?” he asked, as he tidied away some files.

“It was worth a shot,” she replied.

Her strangeness had briefly distracted Laurent from the contents of the envelope. With Talik gone, it was just him and his fears.

To be quite truthful, he didn’t know what … mementos his uncle had saved from the time he was Laurent’s guardian.

Alone, he could unfold the piece of paper and face whatever threat awaited him.

The writing was childish and written in more uppercase than lower.

**_I GOT A NEW PHONE SO I DON’T NEED THIS PIECE OF CRAP THEY GAVE ME ANYMORE. AND SINCE YOU KEEP ASKING DUMBFUCK QUESTIONS JUST TAKE THIS AND LEAVE ME ALONE!!_ **   
**_PS this is Nicaise_ **   
**_PPS if you tell anyone about this I’ll choke you with dirtworms in your sleep_ **

Laurent laughed.  For about half a second.  

After the memory stick, it was nearly too difficult for Laurent to look through the phone. His instincts screamed at him to avoid all of this. He could pretend he never got the envelope. He could get someone else to look first - Auguste, Nikandros, Jord. Even Damen. They’d told him at the centre there was nothing wrong with removing himself from situations that were triggering or overwhelming for him.

But he had to be strong. He had to be better than he was before he got this job. It wasn’t about his past abuse and his everpresent fears. It was about a vulnerable little boy who had somehow seen something in Laurent that made him willing to open up. That was nothing something to be disregarded.

The thought of going through a teenager’s phone was a nightmare but Laurent soon saw this phone was basically blank. He knew enough of men like those to know it had probably been given to Nicaise as a second phone. There were no contacts and only a small amount of activity. Laurent wasn’t quite strong enough to look at the gallery first, so he scrolled through the messages.

He was basically reading a paedo’s handbook. Start friendly, gain the victim’s trust, pretend you’re the only one who understands them, talk about how they’re so much more mature than other boys their age, ask for favors, then start the threats. In this case, Laurent was viewing a play by play of how Audin managed to groom this boy and use him to convince people that selling their homes was a good idea. The manipulation was obvious to Laurent but Nicaise had appeared to fall for it hook, line and sinker. He revelled in it for a while. There were details of clandestine hotel stays and who Nicaise should approach with his big blue eyes. There was even a promise that Nicaise’s granny would be built a safe new bungalow.

This was evidence of guilt. This made the case unarguably criminal.

Laurent knew he should hand it over the police. Child protection laws were stronger now, than when he was younger.

Laurent did not examine the gallery, but he saw by the messages that requests for pictures had been met.

He should hand it over. It might collapse the case, if it was dealt with before their looming start date.

But Nicaise had asked him not to, as Laurent had once begged of Auguste.

There was one last text exchange to read.

 

[12:45] my ma says I can’t get Prestos.  
[12:45] I have to wear ugly ass canvas shoes I got in the gym lost and found  
[12:47] If you send me the link, I might be able to send you the shoes. I want to look after you. You’ve been so good. You deserve that.  
[12:49]http://store.nike.com/us/en_us/pd/presto-35y-7y-big-kids-shoe/pid-11062980/pgid-11977171  
[12:49] it has to be the black ones  
[12:50] some kid in school said the blue ones were for fags  
[12;50] I always do what you say and make sure no one suspects  
[12:55]Don’t forget to talk to your grandmother before bridge night, by the way. The new facilities will be much better for the seniors. And she will have less room to hoard.  
[12:55]already did. And Mr. James in 434  
[12:56] good boy. Will you show me how good you can be?  
[12:59] img. attached  
[01:03]you make me crazy you wicked boy  
[01:04] lol same  
[01:06]got the email confirmation. Tnx for shoes  
[01:08] you’re welcome. I can’t wait to see you wear them.  
[14:42] send me the picture we talked about when you get home from school. My friend wants to see more  
[16:25] sry I was in detention  
[16:28]img. attached  
[16:38]beautiful as ever. My friend thinks so, too.  
[16:40]lol of course. Every1 does  
[16:42] he wants to bring you to the capital and introduce you to his contacts. He knows agents, photographers etc. They think you’re really special  
[16:43]how?  
[16:44] money’s not an issue. We’ll put you up somewhere nice. You deserve this  
[16:45] I mean how do those people think I am special  
[16:46] anyone would think you’re not grateful with all these questions  
[16;46] no! Sorry. I am so thankful. Just worried. If it got out  
[16:55] don’t worry. It was just those pictures from the balcony that time. Remember? With the sunset? Your first taste of champagne.  
[16:56] I did look good  
[16:57] here’s his number. [attached] you know what to do before you call

 

Laurent was not the type of person to leave stones unturned. Assuming the thing poor Nicaise was meant to do was make sure his number was blocked (tower signals were a step too far for such arrogant men to consider), Laurent dialed the number and waited.

It rang five times, then went to an automated voicemail.

He googled the number, got no results, then tried again.

This time it clicked connect on the first ring.

A deep, impatient voice answered. “Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello? Is this…is this Nicaise?”

Laurent dropped the phone. He barely made it to the wastepaper basket before that morning’s oatmeal forcible expelled itself from his stomach.

He knew that voice, sickeningly well.

It was his uncle.

-

After some time pacing, and making a mess of the doc review room, Laurent didn’t feel any better. All those hard-learned internal tools did little to help him cope with this. They only made it so he didn’t rush off to do something reckless. He was really trying very hard to stop rushing into things. Or at least that’s how he consoled himself when he left the office with the phone and note in his laptop bag. Maybe he should have told his boss. Or handed it over to Nikandros. Once upon a time, he would have gotten drunk or picked a bloodless fight. A season ago, he would have ran directly to Auguste.

Progress. He was making progress. He went for a run to clear his head from thick fog to light mist. He didn’t cancel his plans to call over to Damen after. They’d spent precious little time together since the case ramped up and Laurent could not fight the fear that Damen would see the flaws within him and lose interest. After the night of the punching bag, Laurent wanted to remind Damen all the time that he was still the same person he had found at least somewhat attractive and trusted with his child. He found inordinate pleasure in ordinary things - like picking up pizza or looking at Theo’s favourite toys with him.

“Where’s the pizza?” Damen said, when he let Laurent into the apartment. He said it while hugging him hello, so Laurent couldn’t be too annoyed. “Oh, shit.” Laurent looked down at his clothes, which were now covered in wet red and yellow paint. As were Damen’s. “I’m like 95% sure it comes out in the wash,” Damen said.

“I’m just glad I changed out my work clothes.”

“I like your work clothes.”

“Really?” When they spoke, it was impossible to look anywhere else. “I can give you the name of my tailor if you want.”

“I'd rather you …”

“Daddy!” Theo called from the living room.

“He’s still up. Sorry,” Damen said. “Can you believe Jokaste let him have a three hour nap this evening? She knows his routine. She knew I had plans.”

“I don’t mind.”

Theo was such a bright presence, Laurent could never complain. Now, he was sitting on a white sheet which had been spread over Damen’s hardwood floors. There was paint on the sheet. Paint on every inch of the child.

“We’re fingerpainting,” Damen said.

“No kidding.”

“Mama?” Theo asked.

“It’s Laurent, buddy.”

“Lama,” Theo said, confidently, and smeared blue paint on the paper.

“I’ll call for pizza,” Laurent said. “There was nowhere to park on the way over.” Also, he had recognized some people from work outside the pizza place and hadn’t wanted to talk to them. It was nothing personal.

“No rush.” Damen sat cross-legged on the floor across from Theo. “Grab me a beer when you get your pop, will you?”

“I’m not your slave,” Laurent grumbled. But he helped himself to a ginger ale and opened Damen’s beer, wondering if it was weird to kind of love that Damen knew he would get a soft drink and that it felt comfortable enough to do that here. “What are you drawing, Theo?”

“Roosters,” Theo replied.

“Of course.”

Damen tugged Laurent down to the floor, too, and Laurent only protested a little bit. He didn’t protest at all when Damen made space between his legs for Laurent to sit, where he could lean back against his chest.

“How’s work?” Damen asked. Normal, adult talk.

“Intense.”

“They must be scared to push the date forward.”

“Or confident.”

“It’s probably wrong that I feel — Can you do a duck, Theo?” Damen could predict when the kid was about to ask something. “I should be able to support my brother better than this,” he said.

“Like by going to the proceedings?”

“God, no,” With a shudder Laurent felt. “I want nothing to with that insult to my father’s legacy. I’m so relieved the affadavit was enough and I  
don’t have to give evidence,” Damen said.

“Really?”

“Yes. More than anything,” he said. “Do … do you think Kastor will lose?”

“I really don’t know. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Damen said. “I wanted nothing to with him, once, but he’s still my brother. It’s so hard sometimes to — what do ducks say,  
Theo?”

“Quack.”

“Go on,” Laurent said.

“To reconcile the person who hurt you with the person who is your family,” Damen said. “I know that you understand …”

“Shall I do a swan, Theo?” Laurent said. “Like in the park?”

A glance at Damen was enough to know that Damen knew to end the conversation. Other than Damen saying, once, that he was there if Laurent wanted to talk they hadn’t delved into the mess that was Laurent’s family. If he had his way, they never would. He wanted to tell Damen how much their conversation about copper had meant to him but he thought maybe it didn't need to be said. Now Damen said nothing, and Laurent dipped his finger into the untouched black paint and swept a swan onto some paper.

 “Where’s the yellow beak?” Theo demanded, when Laurent was done. Well, not as clearly as that but Laurent had gained a good understanding of his babbling lately.

“Help me,” Laurent said. He took Theo’s finger between his and the two them painted the colours. They made a lake, and a rainbow and Laurent thought about Nicaise and the phone.

At age thirteen, the most important thing to Laurent had been that Auguste believed him and did as he asked. That wasn’t the protocol response, of course. Kashel and Auguste, who were  now trained to react to signs and allegations, would have told him to go to the appropriate authorities. For all Laurent knew, he could be removed from the bar for concealing this evidence. But the decision was made before he admitted it to himself. It was made when he left the office with the phone in his pocket.

“Have you ever read The Catcher in the Rye?” Laurent heard the hazy quality of his own voice.

“Me or Theo?”

“Shut up.”

“You think I made it through being a moody teenager, highschool and then a five year degree programme without reading The Catcher in the Rye?”

“No,” Laurent said. “If I ever…made you feel I think aren’t educated or well-read, I’m sorry.”

“Stop. Why did you ask?” Damen sounded genuinely curious.

“Holden wants to catch all those children before they fall of the cliff into adulthood,” Laurent said. “Loss of innocence. Coming of age. All those terrible things. You ever feel like that?”

“Nik says the world is constantly snatching my innocence,” Damen replied, unexpectedly. “I’m like, bro. I lost my virginity way before you. That  
ship has sailed. But that’s not what either of you mean, is it?”

“Not quite.”

Damen was a grown ass adult who’d been born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

“I don’t want Theo to ever know about Jokaste and Kastor. I wish I could have prevented all the layoffs Kastor blamed on me,” Damen said. “I wish…I could do more with my money and that I had given more of my time before Theo was born. There’s always people who need help. I used to go work on sites in places people needed help. Now I just send them plans from my computer.”

“You can’t save everyone.”

“Most of the time, you can’t save even one person. Maybe yourself. Maybe the person right beside you.”

Damen and Theo were the people closest to Laurent in that moment.

There were dozens of plaintiffs in the lawsuit — people who had little money or power in the grand scheme of things.

Laurent didn’t know that he could win against his uncle. He didn’t know that he could go down that road without destroying himself in the process. He did know that Nicaise was savvy and self-aware and safe for now. If he had the sense to reach out to Laurent, he should know to stay away from men like his uncle. He could see it was wrong clearer than Laurent had at that age.

The phone was the key to lots of things. But Laurent needed the element of surprise. He needed to be able to rattle Kastor. He needed to protect Damen from the indignity of the trial.

He knew what he had to do and it was that stupid mantra back to haunt him - he had to simply take one day at a time. He had to accept what he could change and what he could not. He had remind himself he could not control everything.

Damen said, “Nik was really impressed with what you did.”

“He shouldn’t be impressed with basic human decency.”

“I know you’ve done your best in the ways that you can,” Damen insisted. “I could never…I know it’s not the same but I could never, say, testify against my brother.

“It was nothing to with me,” Laurent said. He was blinking hard. The urge to tear himself away from Damen was nearly overpowering. “I found it. That’s all.”

“All right,” said Damen.

Laurent had to make himself breathe. Damen would hear the effort but that was all right. It just was.

The thing about coping was that some days it’s easy and others impossible. He could go for months without thinking about his uncle and then have hours where that was all his mind could do. Hearing his voice was…difficult.

“OK, Lama?” Theo asked.

“I had a bad evening at work,” Laurent said, evenly. There was nothing wrong with admitting you weren’t feeling one hundred percent.

“I’m going to put this monster to bed,” Damen said, with the same careful tone. “Will you be all right here?”

“Yes, I don’t — “ He caught himself. “Yes. I should be alone for a second.”

Laurent didn’t move from the sheet on the ground for a long time. The sounds of splashing and storytelling and the Theo’s nursery rhyme light projector drifted down the hall — a balm to Laurent’s inner cacophony. A dozen elaborate schemes to warn his uncle played through his mind, each crueller than the last. _A common occurrence_ , they said in the centre, _but not something to let take over his life._ Laurent liked to think of himself as, well, uncommon but he cycled through the usual responses like so many other people like him. As many as one in four, by some estimates. There was comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone, sometimes. Other times, it was ridiculous to think anyone else in the world could share his complicated feelings.

Except they were only feelings. Except Laurent would never be a boy again. He would never let anyone control him again. Not a voice on a phone. Not a voice in his head. He couldn’t fix everything. He couldn’t control anything, really.

Except this.

Damen came back from his fatherly duties with a Mickey Mouse towel slung over one shoulder, a wet patch on his sleeve and red and yellow paint still speckling his skin.

“Couldn’t you have cleaned yourself up while you were in there?”

“You haven’t looked in a mirror, have you?” Damen said. “Or called for pizza.”

“I was distracted.”

“By…?”

“You.” Laurent did not move from the floor while Damen tidied away Theo’s paints and pasted some of the pictures to the wall near the front door. “Sit,” Laurent said, and Damen dropped to the floor beside him. Sometimes it felt like there were two Damen’s. The Damen who existed when Theo was around, who was kind and fun and made Laurent feel safe. When Theo was elsewhere, Damen felt like the only other man in the world. Laurent felt mad with wanting.

Maybe he was the one divided into two.

“I heard some interesting rumours about you today,” Laurent said.

“Is that so?” His voice was rich and warm. It was the only voice Laurent thought of.

“Yes, one of your former classmates works in the firm.”

Damen looked sheepish. “Ah, the night of the jello and the co-ed cheerleading team.”

“No.”

“The TA?”

“No.”

“The…wait, you’re giving me enough rope to hang myself here.”

“Boy catches on quick,” Laurent replied. “Talik from the wrestling team works the front desk. But I am all for hearing about your college exploits if you wish to share.” Damen pressed his lips together, like he was considering the idea. “Don’t believe me?” Laurent added. “I promise, I’m not lying about this. It’s very….intriguing indeed.”

“What is?” Damen’s voice was forceful now. Laurent maybe liked that, too.

“I’m quite interested in everything you do,” Laurent said. But that wasn’t enough for him, or for Damen. “Like locking yourself away with rival wrestlers for six hours”

“Seven,” said Damen.

“Oh, my.” Laurent hid a smile. “I hope you had a good supply of Gatorade. Did you break the bed?” He didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Tell me, how many innocent girls have you ruined for other men? You’re a bit filthy, aren’t you?”

By the deep flush that darkened Damen’s skin, Laurent thought that maybe he had gone too far.

“No,” said Damen. “But I’m learning that you are.”

“Was Talik exaggerating?” Laurent kept his voice precise, his posture restrained.

“No.” Damen shifted, so his arms were braced on the floor either side of Laurent’s shoulders. He was kneeling. “But I’ve learned a lot since I was younger.”

Laurent raised his defiant chin and rose to his knees himself. Damen had been hovering, slightly, so he moved in sync pushing back like a magnet and when Laurent was settled, he put his strong arms on his waist and pulled their bodies flush. He was muddling up Laurent’s loose plans to tease Damen, or perhaps himself, with fantasies of Damen’s past. His fun, carefree, exciting past. But it was not so easy to find the  
right words when they were so close that Laurent could feel the heat of his skin.

“Lots of practice?” Laurent raised one eyebrow while dragging his index finger down the centre of Damen’s chest.

“It sounds like you’re calling me a slut.”

“Not a word I’d use in this century, Damen. Unless you want me to.”

They were gazing at each other.

Damen opened his mouth and Laurent waited for his answer.

“Kiss me,” Damen said.

“I—”

“Kiss me.”

Laurent had not expected that request, nor had he the inclination to deny it. His lips curved into a smile as he brought them to Damen’s. For all his apparent strength, Damen kissed with untold gentleness. It was soft, sweet and the way Damen cupped the back of Laurent’s neck made him feel secure. He melted into the kiss, wanting to return all that heart-fluttering energy back to him. Laurent thought,if Damen kissed softly and held his waist softly he must like it like this. That suited Laurent just fine. Kissing was unhurried, like it was happening just for the sake of kissing. Laurent enjoyed every sweet second, with none of the dread that of unwelcome pressure. Any pressure from Damen was welcome.

The slight friction of their abdomen’s touching, the light scratch of Damen’s five o clock shadow, teeth against Laurent’s tongue, were each a thrill to feel. Laurent also felt the moment where Damen acted to take control, as was typical to his personality and their other kisses, then stopped himself. He was giving this to Laurent.

Laurent didn’t quite know how to be in charge, but he wasn’t about to let that stop him. He tangled his fingers in Damen’s thick hair to keep his head in place. He tugged, slightly, and Damen sat back on his heels giving Laurent a rare opportunity to look down at him. Rare, but as welcome to Damen as the light pressure had been to Laurent. It was all in his eyes and Laurent’s shaky confidence grew with the every shaky breath Damen took.

He thought to take charge, further, and then his hands were tugging Damen’s soft, paint-splattered t-shirt over his head. His body was a sight to behold and Laurent felt lucky. Laurent felt intimidated until he remembered that if Damen wanted to be with someone with thick muscles, he would be. If he wanted a woman, he would have one. Everything about his present stated proved Damen wanted Laurent — all cold, lean, wiry, hyper-sensitive, flushed, nervous, sharp-edged Laurent.

It wasn’t awe of his body (though that was certainly something Laurent experienced on a regular basis) but the feeling of acceptance and  
excitement and the sense of fizzing over that made Laurent drink in the moment. It led to Damen kissing his neck, which led to his nerve-endings all alighting, which led to an embarassing gasp covered up by pushing Damen onto his back.

When he slipped his hand under Damen’s waistband, it wasn’t what he expected. Physically, well, Damen was more than any realistic person could expect. He was hard, hot and this gave Laurent a special sense of achievement. But the wide-eyed gazing that could not be broken was new. The fact that this was not an exercise in over-coming old habits or chasing away bad voices was the surprise. The want it brought out in his own body was the surprise. The sense of sharing a new, wonderful emotion was the surprise.

It was simple - he used his hand to make Damen come.

It wasn’t simple - there was the echoes of an old war and the rising sense of a new era beating through every steady second. Laurent always preferred complicated things anyway.

After, when Damen flopped back against a cushion eyes with his eyes closed and his expression blissful, Laurent felt happy. All right, he was a little bit sticky and his pants were uncomfortably snug and there was a tiny urge to paddle away like a frightened swan. But they were only minor. Laurent was proud of his achievement, like he had finally done something normal, but he was prouder of Damen’s evident pleasure and the intimacy they had shared.

Damen forced open one eye. “I’m doubly glad I put a sheet down,” he said.

And Laurent laughed.

“Not for its intended purposes,” he said, between breaths.

“I’m all about multi-functional spaces.” Damen pushed himself up on his elbows. He pulled Laurent back towards him, totally unbothered about the fact his own pants were around his thighs and some of his own come was on his abs. Laurent was very very aware of those shiny drops. It was, to his surprise, one of the hottest sights he had ever seen. “Come here,” Damen murmured.

“Why?” Laurent aimed for aloof, but the question came out how he felt - nervous.

“You know why.” Damen’s breath was warm right below his ear. It made Laurent shiver. The slow, slide of Damen’s big hand up under Laurent’s shirt left a trail of goosebumps like wake in the water. He had rucked it up in the last moments before his orgasm to draw Laurent’s nipples into his mouth.

Laurent had thought it was over when Damen came. He thought’s that what he wanted — to find it enough to kiss and give. He thought it might be all he could handle.

Occasionally, Laurent was wrong.

He let Damen remove his clothes and lave kisses on every revealed inch of skin.

It was only beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : Laurent reads a text message thread between Nicaise and his abusers showing how he was groomed and implying some abuse. 
> 
> thank you all for reading. i appreciate your comments and kudos very very much


	10. Chapter 10

The night before the trial began in earnest, three loud buzzes on Laurent’s doorbell interrupted his busy schedule of pacing and re-reading case notes. For a second, he thought it might be Damen. He _hoped_ it might be Damen, even though he knew from their endless message thread that Damen was in the middle of reading Theo The Very Hungry Caterpillar for the seventeenth time that night. Damen was very respectful of how big a deal with case was for Laurent at work. He was even more considerate of Laurent’s obvious need to take their relationship slow. He never even mentioned the things Laurent did not want to talk about, like some intuitive part of Damen sensed it would have been more than he could handle now.

Perhaps, ever.

“Yes?” He said, sharply, into the speaker.

“Let me up,” Auguste said.

“You have a key.”

“Oh my God, I’m trying to respect your space here.”

“If you really respected my space you would have called first.” Laurent pressed the buzzer. “The lift is broken again. Take the stairs.”

He needed a minute to pull himself together before Auguste got here. He was flustered. The place was a mess. He’d dumped his half-drank can of Red Bull on the Lannuier. His poor mother must have been turning in her grave.

He’d been pacing.

He’d been thinking about Damen.

The last time they’d been alone, had been the night Damen had taken Laurent apart and then put him back together again with slow kisses, soft touches and a feeling in his chest so unbearably tender. Laurent thought of that rather a lot, if he was entirely honest. He’d never known it could be like that — physical pleasure coupled with emotional intimacy. Trust. So much trust.

And a mind-blowing orgasm.

No wonder he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Laurent flipped the lock to Auguste, who was now panting slightly, could let himself in.

“I saw a pizza guy get out of the elevator,” he said.

“They must’ve fixed it while I was out.”

“Was I interrupting something?” With a not-subtle-look around the apartment.

“Yes. I had to hustle my harem into the spare room.”

“I was thinking of one person in particular.”

“Really? What would Kashel say?” Laurent put the kettle on. The nothing smell of the steamy water brought him back to another part of his life. For once, that didn’t fill him with hurt. Their mother used to make tea. Their’s was the only home he knew with an electric kettle, a habit he had never lost. For a good portion of his sophomore year in college, people thought he was a visiting student from England. He didn’t do anything to dispel the notion as it gave him motivation to master another accent.

“She says good things about Damen, as you well know,” Auguste replied. “Make mine a decaf.” Laurent switched out the teabags. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Auguste, Auguste, you gave me the sex talk already. Remember? The demonstration. I couldn’t look at a banana for months.”

“Laurent, Laurent. I can take an interest in your life without it being about looking after you.”

Oh. Laurent poured the boiling water.

“I really like him,” he admitted. “I think…we have something.”

“Good. I take it he knows about the case?”

“Yeah. We can’t discuss it. Ethics, etc etc.” Laurent handed Auguste his tea.

“You nervous about your first day in court?”

“Kind of? Good nervous, I think.” The said in the centre, that nerves were normal. Anyone would be anxious in his position. He wasn’t a freak for having feelings.

“I have something for you.” Auguste pulled a long silk strip from his inside pocket. “I don’t know if you remember. Dad gave me this for high school graduation.”

“I remember.” Their father had made a thing of it, at the time. Laurent saw now what he didn’t see then — that it was about heaping the pressure of being the model son on Auguste. Maybe their father hadn’t even realised himself. Lately, Laurent had been thinking that his father didn’t mean to be dismissive of his younger son. He just didn’t understand him. Maybe he hadn’t understood how Auguste was his own person, and he wanted to be a soldier.

“You should have it for court,” Auguste continued. “I meant to give it to you for law school grad but…”

Laurent did not attend his graduation.

“No, I can’t take it.”

“I hardly need it for working at the middle school,” Auguste continued. “Most of the big things in my life, other than marrying Kashel, I had a uniform.” He gave Laurent one of his long brotherly looks. “Please don’t be thinking that you don’t deserve it.”

“He’d never —”

“Are you kidding me? They doted on you! If Dad was still alive he would have given you one for every graduation,” Auguste said, unusually loud. “Take it.”

Laurent extended his hand. The silk was soft. His throat was tight.

“I’m sorry,” he said, out of nowhere.

“What for?”

Well, he’d told a lot of lies to get and keep his job. He’d been shady in general with the Guion and Audin tapes. He’d been a mess. And he had no idea if his ploy to stop Kastor in his tracks would actually work. It might result in him getting fired. Or disbarred.

“I should have been there for you more,” Laurent said. “I’m not a kid. I haven’t been for a long time. You shouldn’t have to keep looking after me. You and Kashel have your own worries and — I mean, I haven’t even asked you how the fostering thing is going.”

“We’re approved,” Auguste said. “Kashel still wants to take some time, though, but there are kids who need a home right now.” He blew on the surface of his tea. Their mother used to do that for them, when they were kids. Except Auguste was hardly a child in the times Laurent remembered. “And you don’t have to be sorry. We’re family. Sometimes it’s my turn to take the reins. Other times, it’s yours.”

“But — I’m not good at doing that.”

“You know you’re excellent on horseback.”

“That’s not —”

“Consider this, Laurent,” Auguste interrupted. “You think I’m good. I do everything like our parents wanted. I’ve tried to do my best for you —”

“The very best,” he assured him.

“If any of that’s true, if I’m that bright, good person it’s because you made me that way.”

“Nonsense.”

“I remember when you were born. When you started school. When…you came to live with me. I’ve tried …”

“Auguste, are you trying to tell me I’m the wind beneath your wings?”

“You’re impossible.”

“I love you, too,” Laurent said, or rather muttered, and turned his attention to the tie. “Honestly, you just shoved this in your pocket. The Chavert silk tie. How am I going to get these creases out?”

“I have faith you’ll find a way.”

-

In the centre, Laurent hated exactly one fellow resident. Volo, who described himself as a performer and tried to come on to him in the shower rooms and sang and danced his way through his issues bastardising any number of perfectly acceptable pop songs in the process. Volo woke up, anxious. Post up, anxious. Rode around in that, anxious. Flossed on that, anxious. Etc. Etc. Infuriating.

Except the morning of the trial, the very same was going around and around Laurent’s head. This could go wrong. It all could go so badly wrong. The phone in his pocket felt as big as one of those eighties businessman bricks. His oatmeal made him gag.

He had to turn up the radio to drown out the echoes of his uncle’s voice in his ears.

There wasn’t even any solace in Damen’s messages, for obvious reasons.

Damen : _i_ _t would feel wrong to wish you luck._  
 _But I want you to do well._  
 _So break a leg?_  
 _(Not literally)_  
 _I’ll call you tonight_

Laurent read them more times than he would care to admit, parked beneath the courthouse. The words were simple but the message was heart-warming. It said, to him, : I care about you. He replied with a thank you. What else could he say? Three deep breathes — inhale, hold, exhale and he got out of his car. His plan was shady enough. He couldn’t carry it out in an underground parking lot. Laurent shoved open the heavy doors, took the elevator, and promptly got lost in the bowels of the courthouse.

Any other time he had been here, filing motions and delivering documents, he had come in through the front entrance. It was an old building, with deep basements filled with storage rooms, cells and segregated toilets. Shudder. Laurent knew this because despite pressing the button for floor three, he wound up in a labyrinth. Right. Breathe. Retrace your steps. Pray some bored guard was not watching your ordeal.  
He found his way back to the parking lot door and debated trying again alone, moving his car, or calling Jord for directions.

“If it isn’t the lawyer-du-jour.”

“Jokaste,” he said, without turning around.

“Perhaps I should have said lover-du-jour.”

“Telling it twice makes it less funny, sweetheart,” Laurent replied. Jokaste fell into step beside him, looking like how movies think lawyers look. Glossy hair, knee length skirt and oh — “Nice shoes.”

That earned him a scrolling look and brief flash of mirth. “You too.”

What were the odds they would both be wearing Salvatore Ferragamo leather shoes?

“I’ve been hearing all about you,” Jokaste added as they walked to a completely different elevator bank than Laurent had first used.

“All bad I hope.”

“Oh, no. Theo is very taken with you.”

“Most people are.” It was borderline surreal to think that this person was that sweet baby’s mother. In Laurent’s mind, Theo belonged to Damen alone. “I’m in courtroom three,” he said.

“That’s on the second floor. I’m there too. It’s DUI day. Aren’t I lucky?”

“I’m taken with Theo, too,” Laurent said. “I know you’re his mother…you should know I would never…”

“I’m his mom but you still like him?”

“That’s not quite what I was saying.”

“You like Damen more so you hate how I treated him.”

“Not —”

“I’m a bitch. I use people. I do anything to get what I want. I’m so damn cold, I could freeze the world.”

“Are you saying those things before anyone else can?” Laurent asked, in a neutral voice. He wasn’t about to deny them. Nor was he willing to get drawn into any games. Those days were gone. Mostly.

“Giving Damen custody was my idea. I like my job better than anything else. I fucked my boyfriend’s brother while their father was dying. I did basically nothing to prevent Kastor’s plans, of which I was aware. Ipso facto, I’m a stone-cold —”

“Where are you gong with this?” The elevator pinged open. Laurent had more pressing matters to deal with, but Jokaste was striding out beside him.

“I’ve done only one good thing in my life and that’s Theo,” she said. “Or perhaps having Theo with Damen was the good thing. Anyway, that’s all. You should sign in and do security at the end of the hall. This place is a maze.”

“Wait,” Laurent said.

“Yes?”

His instinct was to say thank you. He figured Jokaste’s instinct would be to use weakness against him in future.

“Kastor,” he said. “You know his character better than most. Does he deserve —”

“Everything he gets, he deserves.” There was real poison in her words. “And not for me.”

“I don’t do many good things either,” Laurent offered.

“But you want to. Oh, look, speak of the devil and he shall appear. I can smell the Drakkar Noir, Kastor.”

Again, Laurent did not turn around. Kastor was a man, nothing more. To Damen, he was some giant of an older brother. To Jokaste, a mistake. To all the displaced, disadvantaged Delphans he was a cartoon villain.

“I can smell your poison, whore.”

Laurent flinched, internally. He was good at hiding reactions. Jokaste did not react at all.

“Well,” she said. “I sent back your cheques. Your gifts. What kind of whore dislikes someone so much she won’t take payment?”

“The stupid kind.”

“Masterful.” With a roll of her icy eyes. “Good luck, Laurent.”

That caught Kastor’s attention. “The same Laurent who —”

“Yes,” he replied, before Kastor could mention the case or Damen. “As luck would have it, I was hoping to run into you.”

“Just because you look like her doesn’t mean the same tricks will work on me.”

“Dear, me. That is not at all what I want when I think of you,” Laurent said. “Might I have a word without all the red tape? I think you will want to hear me out.”

“I gotta piss.”

“I can wait.”

Laurent turned on Nicaise’s phone while the charming Kastor used the restroom. Guilt gnawed his bones. This was such a selfish thing to do. Jokaste said he wanted to be good. But what good was wanting if you still chose the path to hell?

“Is this even legal?” Kastor flicked water from his hands as he burst out through the door.

“I didn’t think legality concerned you. But you are welcome to get your attorney to witness this talk.”

“Just spit it out. I’ve heard all the arguments before, believe me.”

“In my hand,” Laurent began, “Is evidence that agents of your company groomed, manipulated, blackmailed and abused a child while in your service. Not only did they do that, they used they coerced him to act on your behalf to get his family and others to sell their homes to you.”

“To Akielos. Not me personally,” Kastor said.

“Akielos and Sons, no? I wonder what your father would think of all this? Guion wasn’t his go-to city council man in his day, was he? Audin was not his preferred accountant.” Laurent looked Kastor dead in the eyes, glad that they were quite different to Damen’s. “I don’t think you were his preferred son. But I digress. We both know you pushed forward the court date because of those arrests. For now, you can say their private … predilections have nothing to do with your company. But that will no longer be true once this comes to light. Who will want to do business with you then?”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Laurent held the phone out. Kastor made a grab for it but Laurent was not as weak as men like Kastor believed him to be. “Ah-ah,” he said, in the same tone he used when Theo tried to grab his hot coffee cup. “No touching. Good advice in general, by the way. Might want to put it on the company handbook. You can see the texts. Out of respect for the child I won’t show you the pictures but I assure you they are there.”

“We have a right to your side’s evidence.”

“This just came into my possession.”

Kastor passed a hand over his face. It was a stupid physical expression of emotional turmoil. Laurent would never be so careless. But it was also a habit Kastor had in common with Damen - possibly learned from their father.

“This … association could destroy me.”

“Yes.”

“It would win the case.”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Setttlement is better, easier. We still get paid,” Laurent replied.

“That’s what you want. For me to settle. I worked my ass off at my father’s side while my brother pranced off to college and toured the world and drew pictures in the corner office,” Kastor spat. “I deserve it. I took my chance. And you want me to hand it over to a bunch of welfare spongers too dumb to know their own property values.”

“My firm will get quite an amount too,” Laurent said, pleasantly. He did have a habit of antagonising people.

“I settle and you keep this quiet.”

“I keep it out of this case. You escape respondeat superior and the PR nightmare. I won’t stand in the way of the child seeking help.”

“Why?”

“Children should not —”

“Why are you doing this?”

To protect Damen.

“I’m giving you a chance,” Laurent said. “I’d advise you to take it. I’d advise you to choose your associates wisely and make ethical decisions,  
unless you actually wish to destroy your life and your father’s legacy.”

Stone-faced, Kastor glanced at the phone one more time.

“I’m not a pervert,” he said. “I don’t — I’ll talk to my lawyers.”

“Quickly.” Laurent took the first step away before remembering who he was and where he came from. “This is mild,” he added. “I could destroy you. I can find out every dirty secret in ever corner of your life, every part of your company, and use them to tear you from the inside out. Don’t think I’m bluffing, I am very serious. So take my advice. Settle.” Laurent looked over his shoulder, summoning every ounce of cold fury buried deep inside and said, “And give your brother what you owe him or I won’t give you a second chance, you poor pig of a man.”

At that point, it seemed a good idea to walk away before Kastor decked him.

-

Torveld and Jord were already in the courtroom. Laurent was too keyed up from the Kastor confrontation to appreciate the fact he was walking into a real court room for his first real case.

“It’s a bit of a maze coming in from the car park,” Torveld said. “Did you find us all right?”

The old Laurent would never have admitted he got lost.

All right, the current Laurent wouldn’t either.

“I met a friend,” he said. “She showed me the way.”

Another thing he would never do : let Jokaste or Damen hear him call her a friend in any capacity.

The courtroom was filling up. Energy buzzed. People talked in hushed voices. Laurent was not naive enough to think they were showing respect for the institution. No-one wanted to show their cards here. But Torveld was distracted on the phone with his brother. Jord was making sure they had the correct documents, for perhaps the twelfth time. Laurent knew he had done his part to the best of his ability. Both his parts. His work for the firm was exemplary. He could do no more to protect Damen. So he took a moment to look around the old, cavernous courtroom. It was all a little dramatic for a local civil case but the building was a relic of another time, when people lived epics and valued grandiosity over self interest.

But he was here. He had made it this far. His brother was proud. He was wearing his father’s tie. He knew intimacy.

(And if it all went to hell, he could start again.)

“Nervous?” Jord asked him.

“No.”

It was true.

It was completely true for at least thirty seconds. Then, Kastor stormed into the courtroom. The door slammed against the wall so hard the bailiff put his hand on his holster. Laurent’s heart took flight in his chest, as he surreptitiously observed Kastor hiss at his lawyers and Torveld immediately end his phone call.

This was bad.

By the looks on the faces of the opposing counsel, this was more than usual CEO-throwing-his-weight-around antics.

Outwardly calm, Laurent skimmed the file in front of him. It was important to him to maintain an ice-cold manner in certain situations.

Situations like lying about a child, hooking up with the brother of the guy your firm is suing, concealing evidence of child abuse and then using said evidence to blackmail the brother of the guy you’re falling for.

The other lawyers were in a huddle. The people in courtroom, many of whom were plaintiffs in the case, could tell there was something going on. The thrum of their voices went up several octaves. Laurent wondered if they were all about to witnesses to his downfall.

Kastor, flanked by lawyers Mathe and Meniados, approached their desk. Jord moved to stand, but Laurent stopped him. These were men like them. These men were about to blow Laurent’s deception wide open. For all he knew, they could be well aware of his other lies too. This was it.

His part was over. He’d probably be disbarred before his first court case. All he could do now was take solace in the fact of Guion and Audin’s arrests and that he had proof of Nicaise’s suffering.

“Gentlemen,” Torveld said, pleasantly. “What can I do for you?”

Mathe opened his mouth but Kastor cut him off.

“The judge will be in any minute, I hear,” Kastor said. “So this won’t take long.”

Laurent readied himself. He fortified his walls and reminded himself that he could be strong.

“My client is prepared to settle this action,” Mathe said. “Without accepting fault of course. Here is the figure.” He pushed a piece of paper towards Torveld. Laurent counted the zeroes before he counted his own luck. “I am sure your clients will find that acceptable.”

“God knows it’s more than they’ll earn in their lifetimes,” Kastor added. “This doesn’t mean anything, you know. It’s a trifle. We have money to make and no time to waste with nuisance claims from —”

“Do you need to consult with your clients?” Meniados interrupted Kastor. Brave or foolish, Laurent wasn’t sure. He wasn’t really sure of anything in the world right now. They had got what they wanted. Kastor was willing to settle, and the people of Delpha would be compensated. Nicaise could have a chance of a better life. Damen wouldn’t have to testify.

“No,” said Torveld. “We accept with —” He was about to say something stupid. Laurent could see past his own sense of surreality to understand that much. Torveld was a relatively decent man in a room full of pricks.

“With the condition that you make at least twenty percent of all development in the Delpha area low-income residential housing with priority access for former tenants there,” Laurent added. “If you hadn’t been in cahoots with that crook Guion, that would have been part of the original application and you know it. Save yourself another lawsuit.”

Torveld gaped like a fish.

“That’s millions of —”

“You have about two minutes before the judge comes in here and the case begins,” Laurent said. “I don’t think she takes kindly to having her time wasted.”

“Fine,” said Kastor. “Fine.”

“Shall we shake on it?” Laurent asked, pleasantly.

“I’d rather die.” Kastor stormed off. Again. He was rather like a child throwing a tantrum.

“Have the judge informed, Jord,” Torveld said. “Mathe, Meniados, we can take a meeting with my partner on speaker if you have time now.”  
They had time. They’d just had their billable hours nipped in the bud with Kastor’s decision to settle. One by one, Laurent’s colleagues and the people in the courtroom drifted away. He was left to make arrangements for the collection of their documents and to send out a memo that no-one tell the clients until the ink was dry. He did that in a daze, then wandered out to the hallway. He’d have to turn his phone on. He’d have to talk to Damen.

He’d have to carry on this ruse and figure out what to do with the phone in his pocket and the new, raw presence of his uncle in his mind.

He would do all that, once he’d processed this.

He’d been successful. Laurent had gotten Kastor to settle. He had gotten justice for the people of Delpha. Damen wouldn’t have to testify.  
The courthouse was old, and the walls were made of marble. In the cool corridor, Laurent leaned against the hard surface. It grounded him. It held him up. He could take pleasure in this small victory. He could deal with the other stuff later. Probably.

The footsteps came first — loose shoelaces slapping against the floor.

Then the voice, high and demanding.

“Hey,” he said. “Quit skulking. I need your help.”

“Nicaise. You can’t be here alone. They’ll contact all the plaintiffs when —”

“I’m meant to be in court soon. My shitty legal aid lawyer isn’t here. My social worker is freaking out.”

Peace never lasted long for Laurent.

“I don’t know —”

“You’re a lawyer, right? Do your job. Represent me or whatever.” Nicaise’s eyes narrowed. “Did you get my package?”

“Yes and —”

“Did it help you?”

“Don’t cut me off,” Laurent said. “What matters is how I can help you. Nicaise, I promise I won’t do anything that would hurt you. I understand that this is difficult but reporting what they did is best in the long run.”

“You want to help me? You owe me. Come down here and show this dumb judge I don’t need to go to juvie.”

“Show me the charge sheet.” Laurent could only assume the crumpled piece of paper in Nicaise’s hand listed his charges. He also gathered that Nicaise was here without parents and the state had failed to give him adequate assistance. He was up on criminal charges, not here for family court or as a victim. That alone would be enough to warrant sympathy. Laurent couldn’t even think about how those men had abused this boy.

How his uncle had been waiting to do the same. He had seen something in this child that made him vulnerable to predators.

It made Laurent sick that they had once seen something similar in him.

Aside from all that, Laurent liked this boy. He admired his initiative and found his bad attitude endearing. He wanted to do right by Nicaise.

Even if he lost his job, if he never fulfilled his ambition of helping lots of people like Nicaise, this was important.

Besides, the charges were petty as fuck.

“Theft, property damage, nuisance, more property damage…” Laurent rhymed off the list. “Wait…distribution of pornographic materials?” Precociousness was not uncommon among boys like Nicaise. But it was less explainable to a judge

“Dumb fucker at the laundromat said he’d like to see me without clothes. So I filled his manky shop with naked pictures.” Nicaise sulked.

“Hmmm.” Laurent’s mind was made up. He was just messing with Nicaise. “Come on,” he said, holding out his hand. “Let’s go to court.”

It was worth agreeing for the look of unbridled relief that passed over the boy’s face. Nicaise could be cherubic when he wasn't snarling and cursing.

Nicaise leaned over the white bannister, “Yo, Charls,” he shouted. “I got a lawyer. Tell Coach Auguste he can stop trying to get hold of the public defender now!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, guys! and for the lovely comments you've been leaving. sorry i haven't gotten to reply as much these days.


	11. Chapter 11

_The Swan_

_Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?_  
_Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -_  
_An armful of white blossoms,_  
_**A perfect commotion** of silk and linen as it leaned_  
_into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,_  
_Biting the air with its black beak?_  
_Did you hear it, fluting and whistling_  
_A shrill dark music - like the rain pelting the trees - like a waterfall_  
_Knifing down the black ledges?_  
_And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -_  
_A white cross Streaming across the sky, its feet_  
_Like black leaves, its wings Like the stretching light of the river?_  
_**And did you feel it, in your heart, how it pertained to everything?**_  
**_And have you too finally figured out what beauty is for?_ **  
**_And have you changed your life?_ **

_\- Mary Oliver_

 

 

 

Nicaise walked away with the clear expectation Laurent would follow. He chattered the whole way down the stairs.

“So, like, my Coach is pretty cool. First, I thought it was weird that he cared or whatever. But he’s a good dude. The social worker’s all right, I suppose. He really thinks he can change things,” Nicaise said, with an expression that showed he thought that was bullshit. “I’ll tell him this is some pro-boner charity thing and —”

“Pro-bono,” Laurent corrected, stifling a smile.

“Whatever.”

“It’s a good thing you didn’t say anything bad about your coach,” Laurent said, as a worried Auguste and the social worker Charls came into view.

“Why?”

“He’s my brother.”

Nicaise snorted. “Yeah, that makes sense. Why the fuck didn’t he just ask you instead of me having to go on a while goose chase?”

“I’m meant to be working on the Delpha case,” Laurent said. “And this really isn’t my domain. Also, I don’t normally work for free.”

“You’re working for free now?” Auguste stood up with the manner of a man who was used to Laurent’s stranger endeavours : resigned, masking amusement, slightly concerned.

“Yes. Well, I suppose I am technically still on Torveld’s clock. But he’s about to get a nice settlement cut thanks to me so I think he can spare me.”

“They settled?”

“Hush,” Laurent said. “It’s happening was we speak.”

“What did you do?” Auguste asked.

“My job,” Laurent replied. “So, Nicaise. Have you ever been in court before?”

“Just when my Granny got custody of me. I was, like, nine.”

“This is different. You’ve got a lot of charges.” Laurent looked around to see if anyone else was part of this team. “Why hasn’t he been assigned a Guardian ad Litem?”

"Budget cuts," said Charls the famed social worker.

“I’ve written a report, like a character reference,” Auguste said. “And the social worker approves.”

Said social worker was currently frantically rifling through paperwork.

“Let me see,” Laurent said. “And answer my questions properly.”

“It’s confidential.”

“I’m his lawyer.”

Charls handed over the file. “There are staff shortages in all the youth court services right now. As you can tell by the public defender not showing up.”

The file didn’t say much. Laurent was not comforted by the lack of information about Nicaise. He was just another forgotten boy to these people.

“Those budget cuts are downright disgusting,” Charls continued. “I can’t believe the councilors got away with that. Now, I don’t normally speak ill of people but that Audin should rot in jail for that alone.”

“I can’t say disagree. And since you don’t speak badly of people, you’ll give Nicaise a good character reference, Charls,” Laurent said as he handed back the file. The bailiff was calling Nicaise’s name.

“We only met last week. I’m sure there are measures we can put in place to improve —”

“It wasn’t a question,” Laurent said. “Come. Let’s not keep the judge waiting.”

The good thing about juvenile court, if you could find something good about something so inherently sad, was that it was held in camera. Only people who had reason to be in the room could go inside. The details could not be publicly reported. Which meant that if Laurent humiliated himself, no-one outside these old walls would know. The room was just as imposing though. And the sharp-nosed prosecutor talking with two cops was not a welcome sight. He’d been half-hoping to be up against Jokaste.

They had little time before the judge came in so Laurent made his way straight to the prosecutor.

“You’re going to drop three of these charges,” Laurent said. “Trespassing for one, as Nicaise was visiting his former home which was illegally  
taken from him. The nuisance charge. It was bogus. The motel walls are paper thin. You can choose the third. Surprise me.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“That boy’s lawyer. Can’t you tell?”

“I’m not dropping them.”

Laurent didn’t have long to get what he wanted. This was not the place for charm and he couldn’t see any obvious weaknesses in this man. There were open packets of cookies and cereal bars sticking out of his briefcase. It wasn’t much but Laurent could work with anything.

“It’s late afternoon. You haven’t had lunch. I bet this is your last case of the day,” Laurent said. “Do you want me to drag this out or do you want to make Happy Hour.”

“The second property damage charge,” Straton, the prosecutor, said. “The building was condemned anyway.”

“Excellent,” said Laurent. For good measure, he stole a cookie from the package on the table. Then it was time to rise for the Honourable Judge  
Herode. Laurent had to poke Nicaise to get him to his feet but that was all right. When it became clear he was going to start his career in this town, Laurent had made it his business to research all the sitting judges. Herode was fair, if a little old-fashioned. Laurent could work with that.

With three of the charges withdrawn, opposing counsel launched into their accusations. Laurent sat, listened, tapped his notebook every time Nicaise started to hiss something profane so the kid could write it down instead. The prosecutor had two arresting officers waiting to give their versions of events. He had a guy whose van had suffered a broken window. Nothing too intimidating. But Laurent refrained from objecting or interrupting as they spoke. This was real life, not a tv drama. There was no jury. The only person he had to convince was the judge.

Anyway, his job was not to prove that Nicaise was a good kid. It was to pick apart the evidence. Thankfully, he was good at destruction. Conscious of Auguste watching, Laurent did not play dirty. He got the van owner to acknowledge Nicaise was one of a group he saw running away and there was no way to know if it was him who’d thrown the rock. He got the first officer to admit the grafitti was written in a language Nicaise was not known to speak. The second officer could not be swayed. There was CCTV evidence of Nicaise plastering the launderette with porn. The footage, unlike the porn, was of the highest quality.

Laurent said, “Has the owner of the business not come to court?”

“We have it on tape,” said Officer Atkis.

“How did it come to your attention?”

“Ah, there was a complaint by a member of the public. When we checked it out, the owner informed us of the origin of the, um, images. He was very embarrassed.”

“At being caught!” Nicaise shouted.

“This is a courtroom,” Herode said.

“No shit,” Nicaise muttered.

“Forgive my client, please,” Laurent said. “He’s scared by the whole formality of the court. The only other time he was in a courtroom was while he grandmother sued for custody. It was distressing to have to be taken from his mother. Now he’s back with her again, in a tiny motel room, as his grandmother has had to go in to a home.”

Juvenile court was not that formal. Officials wandered in and out. Laurent heard footsteps but refused to turn around. Herode spoke gently to Nicaise without calling him to the stand.

“What did you mean about the owner of the laundry facility being caught?” he asked.

Nicaise folded his arms. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“If you said it in my courtroom, it matters young man.”

“You’re safe here,” Laurent said to Nicaise. All right, he might have been laying it on a bit thick.

“He…this is confidential, right?”

“Juvenile court is private,” Herode said.

“He asked me for a handy. Said I could dry my clothes for free if I did it.”

“Could you repeat that?”

Nicaise rolled his eyes. “He wanted me to jerk him off. The pictures were revenge. I figure if —”

“Your honour, this is the first I’ve heard of it,” said Straton.

“I’ve noted your allegation, Nicaise,” Judge Herode said. “So has the policeman here.”

Laurent followed Herode’s nod, which was not aimed at the two arresting officers. Nikandros was standing at the back of the gallery. His name had not been on any of the charge sheets so Laurent had to assume he was here in some other capacity. He gestured in a way that Laurent could not make out. Then held up his phone.

“Can we help you, Detective?” Judge Herode asked.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Nikandros said, and left.

It was Laurent’s turn at bat. He was there to defend Nicaise. He was there to finally be a lawyer. Patras and Patras rarely handled criminal cases.  
There was still every chance he’d get caught out in his lie and be fired. Some of the stunts he’d pulled might be enough to get him disbarred. He had to make the most of this moment.

He had to give Nicaise a chance. No-one else was on his side in this world but Laurent and Auguste.

And apparently Charls.

Firstly, Laurent addressed the character reference Auguste had submitted. Under his mentorship, Nicaise had stopped getting in trouble in school. His truancy levels were down. Grades up. Then, he dove into the sob story. He couldn’t go too hard since he already brought it up. Then Charls gamely agreed with Laurent’s assertions that Nicaise was recovering from a stressful family situation that had badly affected his behaviour. His mother was getting treatment. He was getting a stable home soon. He had begun seeing a counselor.

“Nicaise has never known stability,” Laurent said. “He’s been mistreated and neglected by almost every adult he’s come into contact with. He’s…”

Nicaise glared.

“May I approach the bench?” Laurent said. He was thinking of Nicaise. His freedom. His chances. He was thinking of the boy he was at that age. If his secrets had been blown apart without his consent, it would have killed him. He thought that when your dignity and trust and bodily autonomy have been abused, the last thing you need is for another person to expose your wounds to the bitter air of the world.

“Go on,” said Herode.

“He won’t admit it to anyone in authority,” Laurent said quietly to Judge Herode. “But I have proof Nicaise has been sexually abused and exploited by people in power.”

“It’s your duty to report that.”

“I will,” Laurent said. “I kept his confidentiality for now because he wasn’t in danger. The men have been detained on similar charges with other boys.” He made his tone meaningful. The arrests of Guion and Audin were common knowledge all over the state. “But I won’t abandon him like so many others have. You’ve seen lots of boys pass through these halls, Your Honour. Look at all his reports. He was the ideal victim.”

“You have proof.”

“Unofficially, as of now. I have his old phone.”

“Your Honour, may I join you at the bench?” Straton called.

“No need.”

Laurent had his last chance to continue. He had done all he could picking holes in the evidence.

All he could do was hope.

“But Nicaise is working hard to improve his behaviour, despite all the odds and the fact he has only ever known a life of chaos. He will attend any classes you deem necessary. He will gladly do any amount of community service if he can avoid a custodial sentence.”

“That may be,” Herode said. “But this child needs stability and discipline that I’m not convinced he will get here. Without a permanent home, there’s no guarantee Nicaise will stay on the straight and narrow. The court is duty-bound to protect this boy and perhaps a juvenile facility is the best place for that.”

Shit.

Laurent’s gambit had not paid off.

He played the abuse card (and he was allowed to say that, being a fellow victim) and it had worked against him. Herode wanted to take Nicaise away from another vulnerable situation. As if giving a sentence would mean anything other than him getting lost in the system and coming out damaged.

“Do something.” Nicaise had gone white.

Auguste cleared his throat. “Laurent,” he hissed. “Charls, tell them.”

“It’s not confirmed until —”

“Your honour, Coach Auguste would like to say something,” Nicaise announced.

“Sure,” Herode said. Right. Juvenile court was pretty lax. Which was good for Laurent, really, because he was prepared to ride or die with this case and he didn’t really fancy being held in contempt. Damen had mentioned that Jokaste was taking Theo for the whole night.

Auguste stood up and Laurent watched with wry amusement as his brother snapped back into Corporal mode. It was a specific kind of authority, different to the old money arrogance wielded by their father and uncle. Auguste had enlisted, after all, and worked his way up the ranks alongside sons and daughters of addicts and farmers. Auguste could summon humble authority, when necessary, and people liked that.

(Laurent did not have that gift.)

“Your honour,” Auguste began. “I’m a retired army corporal. I work at the middle school now and I’ve gotten to know Nicaise well since he first hid under the bleachers when he was meant to be changing for gym class.” He paused just long enough for the humour to seep through the room. That was Auguste. Charismatic in every way. People were drawn to him like moths to a flame. People generally treated Laurent like the moth that buzzes around you when all you want to do is enjoy a summer night on the porch. “I later learned that Nicaise did not have suitable gym clothes and that is why he didn’t participate,” Auguste continued. “Over the last while, we’ve really reached an understanding. There was a period of recklessness, which makes sense in retrospect. I had thought it was the move and family situation that made him unhappy. We are learning there was more to it. But now you’ll see that his grades and attendance are improving. He’s taking part in extra-curricular activities. Over the last while, my wife and I have been trying to have a family. We’ve just been approved as foster parents and with the blessing of Charls here, Nicaise is going to be our first guest.”

“That’s admirable, sir,” Herode said. “But that doesn’t change his past.”

“This is children’s court,” Laurent said. “Wouldn’t you say the future is more important than the past?”

Herode pressed his lips together. “I have to act in Nicaise’s best interest. If he continues on his current path, his life could take some very dark  
turns. I’ve found that people of any background can break the law. A change in address isn’t enough to change a habit.”

“You cannot write a child off before his life has began,” Laurent said. “I made his circumstance clear to The Court. He didn’t do anything for the fun of it.”

“The graffiti was fun,” Nicaise muttered.

“Then join a damn art class,” Laurent hissed back. He was aware that he was losing the judge. Herode was old enough to think that sparing the rod spoiled the child.

“Your Honour,” Auguste said again. “I work at a middle school. I took custody of my brother when he was fifteen. I had a long, decorated career in the army. Disciplne is not an issue in my house. Nicaise, what did I have you do when I caught you under the bleachers that first time?”

“He made me wash all the spare gym uniforms during lunchtime.” His eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. “Then he said I could pick the best one and keep it for myself.”

Herode nodded, thoughtfully.

“The evidence is clear that the boy committed the crimes,” the prosecutor piped up.

Laurent held himself back from shouting at the court to see sense. Or telling Straton to fuck off.

This wasn’t the time for complicated speech, either. Judges could not be intimidated easily. This was a relatively simple case. Except for the fact it wasn’t about doling out punishment. It was about Nicaise’s future.

No part of that should take place in a detention facility. He had suffered enough.

“Nicaise,” Herode said. Laurent poked Nicaise to make sure he stood up. Beneath his borrowed shirt, you could see how fast he was breathing.

“Yes, sir?”

“The court takes all crimes seriously. The fact that at such a young age you have already displayed a pattern of habitual lawbreaking is very worrying. Society depends on compliance, so we can all be safe.”

Laurent couldn’t resist raising an eyebrow. That was rather close to dystopian-speak.

And he had already done all he good to make clear that society was not concerned about protecting Nicaise when he was being neglected and exploited.

“Children’s safety is most important of all,” Herode continued. “And I think that in a safe environment you could flourish, young man. So I am applying the Probation Act for a period of twelve months. You must comply with the instructions of your assigned officer. That means no truancy, no vandalism and no law-breaking of any kind. I think your new foster carer would punish you for spitting out gum in the wrong place. Nicaise, if you don’t do as you are required you’ll be before this court again. Is that clear?”

“Yeah.”

Laurent kicked him.

“Yes, Your Honour. I promise I will ..” You could still see the struggle it was for him to spit out the words. “Obey.”

“Excellent. Thank you for you time, counselors. Court session has ended.”

“He didn’t even bang the gavel!” Nicaise complained.

“Oh my God, at least wait until he’s left the room,” Laurent admonished.

“Good work.” Straton, the prosecutor, offered his hand. “I hope you stick with Patras and Patras. I wouldn’t want to come up against you too often.”

“I don’t know.”Laurent accepted the handshake with some hidden surprise. “Beating you again in future could be enjoyable.”

“Laurent,” Auguste hissed. He never would get over being Laurent’s big brother. Even now, as Nicaise rounded the bench and looked up at Auguste with blue eyes shining. Laurent probably looked at his brother like that, once. He didn’t know what was on his face now Auguste offered Nicaise a high five. Perhaps it took someone else in his role to finally make Laurent feel like an adult.

“Come on,” Nicaise said. “You’re not just my coach anymore. That is a weak high five.”

“I’ll hug you when Charls signs the papers,” Auguste said.

“Hey,” Laurent said. “Aren’t you going to —” Nicaise flung his arms around Laurent’s waist. His grip was tight and Laurent could feel the rapid beats of his heart beneath his little barrel chest.

“You’re a really good lawyer,” Nicaise said.

“I know.” Laurent was smiling. He decided not to tell Nicaise what he was going to say was aren’t you going to thank me. Nicaise already had. And a neglected, precocious, touch-starved boy deserved a hug from someone who wouldn’t take advantage of his loneliness. “Now let’s go. I’m dying to get the hell out of this courthouse.”

“We can do the rest of the paperwork in the lobby,” said Charls.

“Yes,” said Laurent, who knew nothing about it. He was light on his feet as they emerged into the cavernous white lobby. His Kastor plan had worked and Damen would not have to testify. The people of Delpha would get their money. Nicaise was safe. Auguste and Kashel had found a way to share all the love they had in their hearts.

“Ten out of ten,” Auguste said quietly to Laurent. At the centre, he’d rated his days sometimes. Moods, too.

“Ten out of ten.” Laurent bumped his shoulder against his brother’s.

Kashel was stuck in traffic on the way back from a home visit but because social work wasn’t a nine to five job, and they needed to get Nicaise housed, Charls was willing to wait around so they could finalise the documents. Laurent should have probably checked in with the office but his phone was off and he was enjoying the peace of that. He could have gone home but, well, family.

“Did you see Nikandros come into the courtroom?” Laurent asked.

Auguste shook his head. “Maybe he was one of the many city cops who arrested Nicaise.”

“Hey.” Nicaise scowled.

“I speak as I find,” said Auguste.

“Maybe.” But that wasn’t the domain of a senior office like Nikandros nor had Laurent seen his name on the charge sheets. He’d ask Damen when he called him that evening. By now, Damen would know that the case was settled. There’d be so many more things they could speak about.

“Can I have money for the vending machine?” Nicaise asked.

“I should have a granola bar in my briefcase,” Laurent said.

“I probably have protein balls somewhere,” Auguste added.

“I would hope that somewhere is your bag.” Laurent caught the brief smirk that flitted across Nicaise’s face.

“’Oh my God. No-one said you were a healthy family. Charls, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be fostered with the coach.”

“But I’ve already started the paperwork,” said Charls. It was not clear if he was being serious or not. To avoid further confusion, Laurent gave Nicaise enough for a vending machine feast.

“We’re meant to be going out for pizza,” Auguste said.

“Boys that age can eat forever,” Laurent said. “Besides, you don’t know how much he helped with Kastor’s case. You do, however, know what he’s gone through. Let me spoil him a little.”

Before Auguste could answer, Jokaste shimmied up to them.

“Ah,” she said. “When I heard there was a blond upstart raising hell in juvenile court I thought people were spreading rumours about me again.”

“Yes. That does sound like something that would frequently happen to you,” Laurent replied.

“You got some kid out of trouble pro-bono.”

“Something like that.”

“What was in it for you?”

“Nothing. We’re not as similar as you think, Jokaste.”

Auguste was watching this exchange with curious eyes, which got no less confused when Jokaste lapsed into a smile.

Jokaste said, “Have you met Halvik?” With a nod towards a heavyset woman currently in conversation with Charls. Halvik evidently had good hearing as she immediately came their way.

“You are the one who poached my client,” she demanded, staring Laurent down.

He raised his chin. “You’re the one who abandoned a vulnerable young person with no legal representation?”

“I am Halvik, Chief Public Defender. I came down here to represent that boy because our usual lawyer for his type of case was rushed to the hospital,” she said.

“And all our departments have been shrunk since the budget cuts,” Charls called over.

“Well, you wasted your time I’m afraid,” Laurent said.

“Judge Herode spoke highly of you. We are old golf friends,” Halvik said. “Jokaste, too, and Charls. Though he sees only good in everyone.”

“Nothing wrong with that!” Charls called.

“How about I see if I can get an ETA on Kashel.” Auguste walked Charls out of earshot.

“Newly qualified. Good experience with Patras and Patras,” Halvik said. “You’ve applied to my office before but we weren’t hiring. One of my staff is due for maternity leave in a couple of months. We’ll be hiring then.” She nodded once and marched off.

“That means she likes you.”

“Wonderful,” said Laurent. “That doesn’t happen nearly as often as I like.” Relief, or perhaps happiness, outweighed his need to hid any and all  
vulnerabilities from Jokaste. He could see his hopes for the future take shape in front of him. For once, they seemed within reach.

“Don’t worry. Damen here likes you enough for the rest of the world.”

Damen? Here?

Yes, Damen was jogging up the white marble steps with Theo casually sitting on his shoulders. As usual, the sight of him was enough to make Laurent’s heart do funny things.

“Don’t get too excited,” Jokaste continued. “He’s dropping Theo off.”

“Mama!” Theo dived into Jokaste’s arms from several feet away.

“Darling,” she said, holding him slightly away from her body so he didn't crease her suit. Damen held Theo as if he was part of his flesh. Jokaste held him as if he was a favourite designer bag. “Damen, why don’t his socks match?”

“Oh, they’re just twisted.” Laurent could see the patterns were the same but the colours had been pushed out of shape. And he knew how susceptible Damen was to her criticism and would not stand for that.

“Lama!” said Theo. “Look, Dada. He’s here.”

“I see him.” Damen was smiling. He was looking at Laurent in such a way that indicated he would have greeted him differently had the setting been different. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Jokaste stuck her tongue out at Theo. He giggled and wrinkled his nose. “Even he thinks you two are gross,” she said. Damen blocked Theo’s ears.

“He thinks no such thing,” he insisted, at Theo wriggled free. He also jumped back to Damen, which Laurent decided was a victory for him. “Listen. I heard from the lawyers. I know Kastor settled. I’m relieved, to be honest.”

“Do you know how much influence Laurent —” Jokaste began.

“Are you family now too?” Nicaise returned from the vending machine with a suspicious haul of snacks. Laurent could only hope he had the sense not to steal before he had even left the courthouse.

“Well, I —” Damen smiled.

“Ew. Not you. Her. Are you two related?” Nicaise scowled at Jokaste.

“Dear God, no.”

“Absolutely not.”

“There is no similarity between them whatsoever,” Damen said.

“Whatever,” Nicaise said. “Can the kid eat Skittles?”

“Yes,” said Damen. “He’s staying with Jokaste tonight.”

“No,” said Jokaste. “His teeth.”

“They’re gonna fall out anyway,” Nicaise said.

“Thank you for offering though.”

“Whatever.” Nicaise managed to keep up his air of teenage indifference while Theo grabbed a handful of his curls. It had been a long time since Laurent felt like he was having an out of body experience. Any other time he’d had this feeling of watching from a distance, it had been during panic or sadness. This was different. He was observing this surreality, where he had settled a case and won another, where Nicaise was safe, Auguste was on the road to parenthood, he could tolerate Jokaste and felt comfortable around Theo and had the prospect of a night alone with Damen.

It was a little bit perfect, despite the echoey corridor of the old courthouse.

Then Damen froze. He siezed up so violently that Theo reacted to the sudden change.

“I should take him,” Jokaste said as Laurent followed Damen’s line of sight to see what had caused the reaction.

It was Kastor.

Kastor who had betrayed, belittled and broken the things Damen valued dearest. Kastor who Laurent had just blackmailed into settling, more or less. He didn’t need to know the association. He had the power to get Laurent disbarred.

“I’m not some violent animal,” Damen whispered back to Jokaste.

“I’m not suggesting that,” Jokaste said. “I’m his mother. I’m taking him for the night anyway.”

Nicaise was watching this, munching his snacks, as if it was soap opera.

Laurent could barely paying attention.

Kastor wasn’t alone.

Why would he be? It had been a long day of negotiations with all the major players in the case. Laurent had only been minor, really. The others had been holed up in a hastily hired mediation room to thrash out the terms of the settlement. Mathe and Meniados were either side of Kastor.  
Torveld was behind.

Laurent’s heart dropped. His stomach did the bad kind of flip.

He shouldn’t have represented Nicaise without clearing with the his firm.

But that didn’t matter. Kastor could drop him in it about their little morning meeting.

And anyone here could mention that Laurent was not Theo’s father.

He forced himself to summon the outward appearance of calmness. He could look as elegant as a swan while his heart threatened to take flight.

“Shit,” he said.

“What a lame curse,” said Nicaise.

“Shit,” echoed Damen, who knew at least half of Laurent’s dilemma. “Here.” He pushed Theo towards Laurent, as a look of utter rage passed over Jokaste’s face. Not so beautiful now. “I’ll explain later.”

There was no way to go, to hide. Laurent had to face this.

Kastor spoke first. “Cosy,” he said. “Nice of you to come to gloat, brother.”

“Want Dada,” Theo whined.

“In a minute.” Laurent shifted him in his arms.

“Everything’s falling into place,” Kastor continued.

“You never were the sharpest tool in the shed,” said Jokaste.

“Still manage to screw —”

“Enough,” said Damen. By the way Jokaste and Kastor obeyed, you’d think he was a supreme court judge. It was strange, really. Damen acted as if Jokaste and Kastor had real power over him but the truth was rather the other way around. The might have listened but it didn’t stop Kastor sneering or Jokaste staring him down. Damen’s jaw was clenched tight.

Nicaise looked like he was one second away from starting a live stream. Laurent was trying to settle Theo, while Torveld finished talking to the other lawyers. Also, Laurent was trying to prepare himself for his life falling apart any second now. He could only hope that this one day of success would be enough. He hoped Auguste wouldn’t witness this humiliation.

“Kastor,” Damen said. “I didn’t come to gloat. You know I only want good things for our father’s company.”

“You say that like I don’t,” Kastor replied and for a moment there was something like genuine emotion on his face. “Anyway, it’s my company now.”

Damen’s jaw got tighter. He tapped each of his fingers against his thumbs - counting to ten. He wasn’t the only one who employed coping strategies. Laurent would appreciate later. Now, he had to stop Theo fussing.

Torveld was walking over.

“I will give you all the Oreos in my house if you be quiet,” Laurent cooed to Theo. “I will get you your own duck pond.” He didn’t even know what Theo could understand. But he was desperate. “We will go with Dada every day.”

“Dada!” Theo said, just as Torveld approached their …. Whatever it was. Gathering. Debacle. Maybe a murder, like collective crows.

“Ah,” said Torveld. “I thought you’d be gone. And I didn’t think…well, no matter. It’s all settled now.” Expectantly, he looked around the motley  
crew. Auguste and Charls had joined them and it was clear Torveld was waiting for introductions. Perhaps congratulations. An explanation as to why Laurent was fraternising with the Akielos brothers and a vicious prosecutor. Damen subtly stepped closer to Laurent. Except he was so large, nothing he did was subtle. Maybe it was protection. To soothe Theo. Kastor had paid his nephew no attention maybe it was related to that.

Kastor’s lawyers were indicating it was time to leave but Kastor waved them off.

Torveld kept looking.

“Are you rushing off?” Laurent asked. “Or can I introduce you to some people. Theo, you’ve met. And that’s my brother Auguste. Jokaste, you’ve heard of.”

“Yes.” Torveld looked a little scared.

“Kastor. Damen. Charls.” Laurent continued. Best to brush right past that. “Who knew the courthouse lobby would be such a hotbed of activity on a Friday night?”

“Well, we are lawyers. And several of us are involved in one case.” Torveld was not being as amenable as he’d hoped. “I have to ask, was there some kind of…intimidation happening, Laurent?”

“Lama!” said Theo.

“No,” said Damen, flatly.

Laurent heard Nicaise cackle.

“Nothing like that,” Laurent said. “My brother and Damen play soccer together.”

“Laurent and Damen play—”

“Jokaste,” Damen said. Back to that authoritative tone. It was enough to make her stop.

Kastor snorted.

So did Nicaise. Which said a lot of about Kastor’s maturity levels, really. Theo squirmed in Laurent’s arms. He wanted his parents. It was natural for Jokaste to reach for her child. Any minute now, she’d end this ruse. She had no reason to cover for Laurent. A look passed between them. Laurent didn’t think his betrayed much and certainly, neither did hers. But the line of her mouth shifted and she produced a lollipop from her bag.

“Can he have this?” she said.

“Sure,”said Laurent. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They understood each other.

Laurent had gotten away with it.

“I want one,” Nicaise said.

“You’ve got half the vending machine in your hands, kid.”

“A lollipop is way better for my Insta aesthetic,” Nicaise retorted.

“Are you regretting signing up for a teen?” Charls asked Auguste.

“Never. Oh, look Kashel’s coming in. Let’s get this sorted.”

Laurent breathed out, finally. Jokaste had not busted him. His boss was none the wiser about this ruse. He didn’t even care that Theo’s sticky fingers were all over the shoulder of his best suit. Turning to Torveld, he prepared to say goodbye and put this portion of weirdness behind him.

Hopefully, he would go back to head office and the fictional child would become a distant memory.

Torveld’s face changed, as he looked past Laurent. That was not the kind of expression you want to see on your boss when you are doing your best to conceal a major lie.

“I’ll walk you out,” Laurent said.

“Wait.” Torveld was usually pleasant but he was downright contorted with anger now. “That’s the little delinquent from my motel. Hey, you. I’m still waiting on an apology.”

Nicaise.

Of course.

Hey,” said Auguste, who was naturally more authoritative. “Don’t speak to him like that.”

“Yeah,” said Charls, belatedly remembering that Nicaise was still technically in his care. "Please be polite."

“I most certainly will,” Torveld said. “He vandalised my car. He spread false allegations about me. He was a nuisance at all hours of the night. That boy is a menace. He should be in juvenile court rather than gallivanting about a courthouse foyer.”

“You should be in a retirement home, old man.” Nicaise said, around his lollipop. “And for your information, I was in juvenile court. I —”

“Stop,” said Auguste. “Torveld, sir, I respect you but do not speak to my foster son like that. He has just come into my care and I can assure you that kind of behaviour is in the past.”

“He made me promise the judge,” said Nicaise.

Laurent’s heart was in his mouth now. Defending Torveld’s tormentor on his own dime was probably a sackable offence.

“Is it true, Nicaise?” Auguste asked.

“You were right there!”

“Did you misbehave while living in the motel?”

“To be fair,” offered Damen. “What kid wouldn’t misbehave while living in a motel?”

“It was just, like, pranks.”

“Say sorry,” said Auguste.

“Sorry or whatever,” Nicaise muttered.

“You know what?” Torveld said. “I’m out of here. The big guy is right. Kids are gonna act up living in motels. But my brother and I are staying in The Westin tonight. Drinks are on us, if you want to stop by, Laurent.” He even shot Kastor an apologetic look when he spoke. “And I can leave knowing you actually do know lots of people in town.”

“We’re busy,” Damen said.

Why did that turn Laurent on a little?

“Thanks,” said Laurent. “For everything.” He exchanged handshakes and watched Torveld leave. Then he exchanged a relieved look with Damen. Auguste and Charls had drifted over to Kashel while Nicaise posed for selfies. Kastor was just standing there. So far, he didn’t seem very bright. He probably wouldn’t last long as CEO.

“You have so much explaining to do,” Jokaste said, as she reclaimed Theo from Laurent’s arms.

“Later,” Damen said. He was looking off towards the exit. “Nikandros was calling me earlier and he’s standing outside there.”

“He was in the court earlier, too.”

“Never a dull moment,” said Jokaste.

“Hi, folks.” Nikandros strode over, all business. “You should move on.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, little man.” Jokaste’s attempts at sneering were rather obliterated by Theo’s joy at seeing Uncle Nik. There was clapping. Also, sirens.

He flashed his badge. “I’ll think you find this badge means I can and do ask you to leave.”

She huffed.

Kastor glared and tried to catch Jokaste’s eye. That only made her transfer annoyance to him as she took Theo’s stuff from Damen. Truly, Jokaste was skilled at multi-tasking.

“I’m serious,” Nikandros said. “Damen, you guys should go now.”

“We’re waiting for Auguste. Aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” said Laurent.

“I was calling you,” Nikandros said to Laurent, voice low and urgent.

“I was in court all day. Actually, I have something else you should see,” Laurent said. “Related to —”

“This is more pressing it’s about what you made me promise,” Nikandros said.

“What did you —” Damen began.

“Later,” said Laurent. He had the urge to run; the urge to at least usher Nikandros away and talk in private. There was only one thing he had made Nikandros promise, and it was to tell him if anything related to the child abuse cases could be linked to his family.

Laurent wanted to run. If not physically flee, that at least to run circles around everyone else here. He could pick a fight. It wouldn’t be hard to, say, draw Kastor out. Or Jokaste. Or even trick Nicaise into acting out enough to get people distracted.

“Audin squealed,” Nikandros said, so only Laurent could here. “He gave up the ringleader. It’s your —”

“I know who it is,” Laurent said.

“You and Damen go to the bar across …” Nikandros trailed off. At the same time, Auguste stood up from the bench he was sitting on with Charls and Kashel.

Two uniformed officers were coming into the courthouse.

They weren’t alone.

Laurent’s uncle was handcuffed between them.

It had been over ten years since Laurent laid eyes on him, and one glance was all it took to make it feel like yesterday. Like he was a quivering boy and his uncle was the strongest, scariest man in the world. Fear was always more of a mental than physical condition for Laurent, and he thought he did a fairly good job of keeping it hidden. He repressed the flinch, the turn of his stomach, and managed to keep his face stoic.

Still, Damen took a protective stance beside him. Auguste rushed across the lobby, as if putting himself between Laurent and their uncle was enough to make this better.

“Jokaste,” Damen said, with that authoritative voice again. “Take Theo and go please.”

“But —”

“Now.”

It was like hearing them from underwater. It was like Uncle and the uniformed officers were walking in slow motion. Laurent wasn’t sure if he was even in the room anymore. He could have been anywhere. He could have been anyone. He heard the click clack of Jokaste’s heels as she left; the empty tone in his own voice as he said a quiet goodbye to Theo.

“Nikandros,” Damen said next. “Give me your gun.”

“Don’t be —”

“There’s a man there that I am going to kill.”

“No,” Laurent said. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“That’s what I was going to say.” Nik was standing in front of Damen now. They weren’t far off playing trains. “With more curses and inflections.”

“He laid hands on —”

“Damen, leave it,” Auguste interjected. “Now.”

“But —”

“Sir, I don’t know you but violence is never the answer,” offered Charls. Kashel snorted, then pretended to cough. Damen bared his teeth, which sent Charls scampering off to get their papers stamped by a clerk.

“I’m not leaving.” Laurent’s voice was cool and over-rode any other noise. He wasn’t afraid. He refused to scarper off like a scared little boy. Not today. Not ever. He held his ground, ignoring the looks from Nicaise and murmurs from everyone else. Uncle was brought through the security station with his head down. Jokaste had taken Theo out the same way. For all Laurent knew, he had the upper hand. His uncle had not even seen him.

Some well meaning worker at the centre had once said to Laurent that revenge fantasies were well and good, and no he didn’t need to worry that it made him a sicko, but the best revenge was living a healthy, rewarding life. Laurent tried to make himself remember that, now. Perhaps there was nothing better than the knowledge he had won today in both cases. Nicaise was safe. Laurent had Damen and whatever happened between them, he would have the lovely memories and the knowledge that he was capable and worthy of a relationship like this.

He could rise above this.

Probably.

Nikandros was the senior officer investigating the (Laurent’s stomach twisted again to think the words) the pedophile ring, so the arresting officers came to stop in front them.

“Straight to central booking,” Nik commanded.

“No,” said Laurent.

  
“How nice of my nephews to meet me here,” said his Uncle. He had obviously spotted them earlier. “And with friends, too. Laurent, I recognise that tie. It doesn’t look quite as good as when you used to dress up as a boy but —”

“Shut your mouth,” said one of the uniformed officers. Laurent could see the court security guards looking their way. Nicaise glared at no-one particular. He was smart. Perhaps he had pieced some things together. Perhaps he recognised Uncle’s voice as Laurent had.

“He’s my lawyer,” Uncle said, with confidence. “I did think the profession lacked dignity. A soldier turned middle school coach and a humble lawyer. How your father wished for more for you two. Oh, well, it’s works out now. I am allowed time alone with my legal representative? Once you’ve processed my arrest? Those wastrels lie about me and I end up here? In a court cell rather than a police station. Nevermind, my nephew will sort it.”

“You can’t be serious,” Auguste said. “He wouldn’t do it if —”

“There is evidence,” Nicaise said, his voice high and clear. “Give the cop the phone, Laurent.”

“That better not bite me in the ass after I settled,” Kastor said.

“Why are you still here?” Kashel snapped. “Why are you making this about you?”

“I’m not sure any of us should be here, boss,” said the cop, Pallas, to Nikandros.

“You should put that with the evidence.” Laurent handed the phone over to Nikandros. “Thank Nicaise when you get for your conviction.”

“That’s nothing —”

“Don’t forget to listen to the voicemails,” Nicaise said, sweetly.

Laurent had not said a word during this odd, fraught exchange in the cavernous courthouse foyer. There was, of course, momentous value in the way his friends and family were rallying around. It hadn’t been so long ago he thought friends and family were abstract ideas that existed in realms separate to his own. Laurent appreciated their support — his brother’s steady protection and the heat of Damen’s fury. He respected Nikandros’s honour and Nicaise’s bravery. And there were so many things he could have said. He had scrawled endless paragraphs and shouted curses into the void, each of them filled with hatred and frustration for what his uncle had done.

_Who do you want to have the power here, Laurent?_

He had said that to himself, looking into a cracked mirror on his last day at the centre.

There was only one answer.

“I’m not his lawyer.” Laurent’s voice did not waver. “I’m not his family. A man like that, he’s nothing. Take him away.”

Nikandros nodded and the officers put their hands on Uncle’s cuffed arms to lead him away.

Uncle resisted. His polished shoes slid on the marble floor.

“I’ll make bail in the morning,” he said. “You’re the one who is nothing. How many lies did you tell to get that job? How many men did you tease to get ahead?”

“Shut it,” said Pallas. One of the court guards came over to assist taking Uncle down to the holding cells. Though well into middle age, their uncle was still fit and strong.

“How brave will you be without your brother to protect you? Without that giant bulldog beside you?”

“Shut. Up.” Damen strode past Laurent, with his fists clenched. Laurent made no move to stop him. This was a side of Damen he had not seen before. Granted, he knew that it existed. Damen had not hidden what he did to Kastor. He did not hide his strength, ever. It was so intrinsic to him, it would be like Laurent trying to conceal his blond hair. Damen’s strength and size gave him a certain kind of power in this world.  
Laurent knew that if his uncle could not overcome another’s power, he would provoke it until it was not something they could overcome either.

“Ah,” said Uncle, with a long scrolling long at Damen. “Was that your boy I saw leaving with the other blonde? One can only imagine the peach he will be in a few more years. Delicious and ri —”

Damen punched him.

Laurent heard the crack of bone and the splatter of blood.

His uncle wouldn’t be finishing sentences any time soon.

Damen did not stop with one punch. The first hit was followed by a swift uppercut that knocked Uncle, and the guard holding his arm off their feet.

“Damianos!” Nikandros shouted but the words were lost. He did not touch Damen. The guard that tried to stop Damen was swatted away like a fly.

Uncle was on the marble floor, trickling thick blood from his face. Damen poised above him, energy and strength diverted to his uncle’s midsection. Uncle was fit, broad, even as he aged but he was not match for Damen’s raw anger. The guards at the front entrance tried to dash over, one radioing for backup, but were prevented by Kashel. With a flourish that made Laurent realise just why Auguste loved her so, she crumpled to the floor. Chivalry was not dead. They assisted her first.

“Get him!” shouted Nicaise.

“Hush,” Auguste said. He had not intervened either way. Maybe he knew Damen well enough to know there was no point. Maybe he wanted their uncle to suffer like this, as Damen rained blows down on his body. Laurent’s feet were glued to the floor, even as Nicaise took it upon himself to pelt Uncle with his remaining Skittles.

Kastor grabbed Nicaise’s gobstoppers and rolled them over the tiles. They had the effect of briefly slowing the guards and hilariously making them skate on oversized sweets. Maybe he wasn’t a total waste of space.

Damen, though, was unstoppable. The court guards could not stop him. Nikandros could not command him. Uncle had implied the unthinkable about Damen’s son.

It occured to Laurent that Damen could kill him. He couldn't kiss him good morning if he ended up in jail. Though defending an accused murderer would be a career high...

No. When Laurent stepped forward, he felt utterly calm. Chaos reigned around them, flailing guards and his uncle’s satisfying cries and the crack of Damen’s fists. None of it touched Laurent. He was touching distance with Damen, ready to put an end to this. Nothing about Damen was dangerous to Laurent. Even now, he felt safe.

There was his uncle’s hand, grasping at flat solid marble. The hand that had beckoned Laurent forward and made his skin belong to someone than himself.

He acted without thinking.

A firm press of his heel was all it took to break those bones. His Uncle let out a new kind of yelp as Laurent continued on as if he had done nothing.

“Damen,” he said. “Enough.”

And Damen stopped. His eyes were glazed, as they had been when he and Laurent were entwined under warm sheets, and his chest was heaving with exertion. But he stopped. And Laurent did not flinch when Damen whirled around to face him.

“Damen,” Laurent said and that was enough. They understood each other.

Two of the guards took hold of Damen’s arms, though could not have held him without his compliance. His shirt was askew, which Laurent might have appreciated in any other circumstance. His curls were plastered to his forehead. When he shook his head to loosen them, one of the guards made a delayed show of shoving him back into place.

“Hey,” said Kastor, who was also large, taking a step forward. “That’s my brother.”

Oddly, Damen beamed.

Nikandros took action. He ordered the unhurt guards to take Uncle to processing and to be attended by medics.

“But the woman…”

Kashel hopped up. “I forgot to eat lunch,” she said.

“She’s fine.” Nikandros spoke flatly. He dispersed the onlookers and hurt guards. He demanded the kiosk lady delete the footage from her phone. He got a custodian to sweep up the Skittles.

“There are witnesses.” Uncle spoke through bubbles of blood. “I want them arrested and charged with assault.”

“Them?”

“My nephew has clearly been corrupted. He needs to learn. Charge him. He broke —”

“He’d be disbarred,” Auguste said. He had one hand on Nicaise’s shoulder.

“He should have thought of —”

“Take him down,” said Nikandros. Then his uncle was gone. He didn’t protest. He was a man used to getting away with things.

Laurent and Damen were gazing at each other.

“It’s OK,” Laurent said, but it was silent. He didn’t think differently of Damen for his outburst. He needed Damen to understand that.

The remaining guards were looking at Nikandros for guidance. They were looking at Damen like he was a wild animal.

“He beat that guy to a pulp in a courthouse,” Nicaise enthused. “He hurt, like, five cops.”

“It’s OK,” Damen said to Nikandros. "Do what you have to do."

“Cuff him,” Nikandros said.

Damen was bloodied and dishevelled. His knuckles were torn and there was a gash on his cheek where Uncle had gotten one good hit in. He was restrained, hands behind his back, and his breathing was still rapid. He looked up under his dark lashes, sheepish as a guilty child, as the cuffs went around his wrists.

“Please,” he said. “Don’t tell Jokaste.”

—

  
Since Kashel had miraculously recovered, and Charls the Social Worker was due back any minute, she and Auguste took Nicaise to wait for him outside. Just in case he changed his mind about the kind of family he had sanctioned to foster the boy.

“I can wait,” said Auguste. “You don’t have to do any of this alone.”

“It’s fine —”

“Really fine or centre talk fine?”

“Go be with your family,” Laurent said. “I am genuinely fine.”

Auguste pulled him in for a quick hug. “Call me when you leave?”

“Of course.”

“Nicaise…”

“Give him space,” Laurent said. “Kid!”

“I’m not a kid,” growled Nicaise. “Jesus. Just when I thought I was fostered into a cool family you have to ruin it.”

“Want to get breakfast on Sunday?”

“I guess…Just don’t start talking about feelings or anything gross.”

“Deal.”

Kastor lingered. Like a bad smell.

“What?” said Laurent.

“I don’t support pervets,” he said.

“Wonderful. Do you want a medal or a trophy for that basic act of human decency? No answer. Right. I have matters to take care of,” Laurent replied.

“If he needs bail money…” Kastor said. “Our father would at least want that much.”

Laurent refrained from snapping that Damen needed nothing from him. He really did have more important things to deal with. Like what the hell was going to happen with Damen and how he was going to fix it. He pushed through the heavy doors into one of the warren-like corridors of the old courthouse. It was hard to tell right now, but Laurent really did have a lot of respect for the law. Damen was a honourable man. He didn’t deserve to be punished for defending his child’s innocence.

Beyond the doors, Damen was cuffed to a bolted-down bench. Two cops were standing at a safe distance, one of whom was examining his face for bruises in polished glass.

“Hey,” Laurent said, and to his own ears he sounded ridiculously fond. A guard snorted and Laurent decided he deserved the inevitable black eye swelling on his face.

“Hey,” Damen replied. “Are they gone?”

“Yeah. Auguste is taking them home. Nicaise thinks you’re badass.”

“Kastor?” There was too much nonchalance in that one word. Laurent knew, from the centre and from living, that when people pretended not to care was often when they cared the most.

“He sends his regards.”

“Yikes.”

“No, I …he meant it. He said to call if you needed bail money. That’s what your father would want.”

“Oh,” said Damen.

“How come they haven’t booked you yet?” Laurent said. “Hey! Officers! Why is he just sitting here?” The quicker this got started, the quicker Laurent could get Damen back out. “I’ve already had two wins in this courthouse,” he said to Damen. “Why not go for the hat-trick?”

“Boss says to hold him here,” the non-bruised guard replied.

“Right.” Laurent’s mind was working overtime. “Did he read you your rights? Was there mention of any offense?”

“I assume they want want to get your uncle through booking first,” Damen said. “In case I go ham on his pedo ass again. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yes. You are entirely too old for terms one finds on urban dictionary.” Laurent sat on the bench, too.

“Laurent…I fucked up. I’m a father now and —”

“Shhh.” For emphasis, he put his finger over Damen’s lips. “Don’t say anything where the cops can hear you.”

“They saw me! I punched Pallas. He’s on my soccer team.”

“Nikandros didn’t arrest you,” Laurent said. “Not formally. And he’s your best friend.”

“He takes his job seriously. He leads by example.” Damen had a desperate look when he turned to Laurent. They were gazing at one another. Close enough to touch. “Our custody agreement isn’t formal,” he said. “What if Jokaste uses this to…What if I go to jail?”

“Oh my God. Don’t be dramatic,” Laurent said. “Jokaste won’t take Theo from you. She thinks you’re a wonderful father. Nikandros didn’t arrest you. I personally know he’s been willing to bend the rules before. Not to mention that I helped him bust a child sex ring. He owes me.”

“But —”

“You have heaps of witnesses who heard what my uncle said to you about Theo. They have solid evidence that he conspired to abuse Nicaise. There are few father’s who wouldn’t do what you did.”

“I’m not a violent person.”

Laurent raised one eyebrow.

“I’m not a bad person. I’d never hurt your or Theo. I’ve been attending classes…” He was close and his eyes were shining. Laurent pressed his forehead to Damen’s, aware of the guards watching but more concerned with comforting Damen.

“Listen.” Laurent tipped Damen’s chin up so he looked him dead in the eyes. “I promise you nothing bad is going to happen because of my uncle. If I know Nikandros, he cuffed you to put and end to the chaos and he will let you go just as soon as the processing is done. I’m going to drive you home tonight. I’m going to tell you about my day in court and sleep in your bed for approximately thirteen hours.”

“He might insist on pressing charges.” Damen raised his wrist where where it was cuffed to the bench. “I might be locked…”

Laurent smiled.

“It’s not funny!”

“Well,” said Laurent. “Luckily for you, your boyfriend is an excellent lawyer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go, folks. It's about another 9k though. Oops. Again, thank you for reading and commenting. I cannot tell you how much I value it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potentially nsfw

**One day later  
**

The last of the light flashes through the branches. These roads are lined with thick ancient trees and Laurent hasn’t seen a house in ten minutes.

“If you’re kidnapping me,” he says. “Tell Auguste to sell the Launnier to pay my ransom.”

“I think a kidnapper would pay us to take you back,” Damen replies. He’s smiling so Laurent smiles, too. It’s such a simple pleasure - cruising down an empty road while someone handsome smiles at you — and Laurent’s never experienced anything like it. “I told you I wanted to show you something. Trust me.”

“OK.”

Laurent does. Even though Damen’s knuckles are bruised and they were too tired last night to talk or do anything but stare at the fireplace in silence, Laurent wouldn’t change a thing about him. Laurent can’t believe it all worked out. The case settled, Nicaise with Auguste, Torveld not knowing his lie, all of it. Laurent’s always tried and been thwarted last minute. He’s always reached the second highest point of the mountain.

Until now.

Especially as he was right about the police releasing Damen without charges.

“I’d be a dick if I didn’t mention it,” Damen says, then, and he’s stopped smiling. “Nikandros wanting to talk to you. Nicaise. What … your uncle said.”

Laurent waits for the stab of pain but it does not come. The logic is there — criminal cases are delicate and his uncle’s wormed out of everything before — but it can stay hidden out sight on such a triumphant day. It’s easier to talk without the twisting in his chest. He wants to be honest with Damen.

“They’re all going to hang each other out to dry,” Laurent says, proud of the steadiness of his voice. “ They had quite the network going, those men and they will do anything to protect themselves.”

“Will you —”

“The investigation won’t involve me,” Laurent says. “Your friend is honourable like that. And I am quite confident there will be a conviction without my testimony. As for Nicaise, that’s up to him. But I think our time in juvenile court might have swayed him. And he didn’t hesitate handing over the phone. ”

“All right.” Damen hits the turn signal. “You can tell me more if you want.”

“I’ll tell you this isn’t a road.” The car is bumping over dirt and rocks. The trees scratch the roof.

“I told you about a third project I’m starting. A house.” He stops in a large clearing, which is actually on the crest of a hill. You can see their town stretched out below like matchstick houses. At night, the lights would look like stars.

“What a view.” Laurent follows Damen out of the car, mindful of the mud and dust on his pants and shoes but trying not to show it. “Whoever hired you is in for a treat.” He can imagine the way Damen will make use of all this light and the unspoilt vista in front. “And the top of the hill is historically a good location. Strategically powerful.”

“This land belonged to my mother’s people.” Damen’s warm hand slips into Laurent’s and he guides them to the centre of the clearing. “Look, there are foundations here from the old bungalow. They lived off the land, basically. Well, it belongs to me now and I didn’t see the value in it. I always placed value on the same things as my father — commercial real estate, maximised profits, all that shit. They’re Kastor’s values now. I’m building a house here,” he says. “For me. For Theo. I’m building us a home.”

“You’re going to do something great.” Laurent had to say something. Damen’s eyes were shining with raw enthusiasm.

“Do you like it here?”

“Yes. I like it here so much.”

Damen hugs him and there’s nowhere he would rather be.

**One week later.**

 

Laurent is two things : breathless, and hard. Damen’s hair is so soft under his fingers. His mouth is doing brain-melting things against Laurent’s neck.

“Damen,” he gasps.

Damen hums against his throat and kisses more intently. They’re….they’re on the floor in Laurent’s spare room. The punching bag is still  
swaying. Laurent’s not quite sure what happened between Damen wanting to check the ceiling mount was secure and Laurent tackling him to the mat but he doesn’t regret it. The weight of Damen’s body on his is heady. The feel of rippling muscles under his wandering hands is wonderful. Damen kisses as well as he does everything else physical and Laurent’s body appreciates his natural talents. He pushes his hips upwards, a blind rhythm, just to get himself closer to Damen.

He pants his name again.

“I like that,” Damen says, smug.

“Feeding your ego is your thing. Got it.” Laurent’s a little frustrated. Who could blame him? He’s incredibly frustrated when Damen kisses behind his ear with gossamer lightness, and grinds himself against Laurent at the same time. “Stop,” he says.

Damen freezes.

“No. I mean, stop or I’ll come.”

“Really?” Damen’s eyes twinkle down at Laurent. His voice is thick. “There’s nothing I’d like to see more. Do you have…”

“No.” Laurent does not have condoms or lube. What kind of gay adult is he? “I don’t…I.”

With a wrestler’s efficiency, Damen flips them over. Once Laurent is dazedly balanced on Damen’s lap, he hoists them both upwards and so he’s standing. He bears all of Laurent’s wait in his powerful arms and next thing, Laurent’s back is pressed against the nearest wall.

“Oh my God.” Laurent is ridiculously, terribly turned on. “You’re…”

“Go on.” Between kisses.

“Incredible,” Laurent says. In all his extensive vocabulary and hard-learned emotional awareness, he doesn’t have the words to explain how it feels to be held like this. Damen’s arms are a secure cradle and his knees are bend just so. Laurent loves the banded muscle on Damen’s thighs. He loves the obvious imprint stretching the front of Damen’s pants, the feel of his dick when he presses against him.

“Can you open your belt?”

Laurent’s hands tremble, but he does.

“That’s it,” Damen coaxes. “Push them down. Let me see you.”

Laurent twitches.

He loses all rational thought when Damen’s hand closes around him. Damen knows what to do. The pleasure he gives Laurent, combined with the warmth in his eyes is unbelievable. Even when he has to let Laurent’s shaky legs take his own weight, Damen’s strength is everywhere.

Laurent can more a little more freely now and he remembers that Damen is hard, too. That he wants every give him even a hint of what he’s feeling. Laurent fumbles to touch him, first cupping through the fabric and the shoving it out his way. Thank God for elasitcated waistbands. Damen’s cursing, muttering sweet words, and his hand works Laurent expertly. As Laurent really holds him for the first time, and feels Damen’s pants pool around his feet, he remembers what started this.

Damen was wearing grey sweatpants.

 

**One month later.**

“That’s disgusting,” Nicaise says, through a mouthful of chocolate chip pancakes.

“Close your mouth,” Laurent says. He tries not to think about the way Nicaise shovels food into his mouth like he’s never going to see a meal again. “And don’t be a hypocrite.” Maybe family brunch wasn’t the best idea but they’re here now. This place is near the site of Damen's current work project and Laurent’s eggs are poached just right.

“Babies poop,” Damen adds. “It’s not Theo’s fault.”

“I don’t mean the shit.”

“Language!” Kashel’s got that stern voice down.

“I mean the baby,” Nicaise continues. “It’s gross. It keeps looking at me. Like I’m meant to entertain it or something I was only pretending to be nice when I offered it sweets that time.”

“He has a name,” Laurent says. “Use it or keep out of the conversation.”

Nicaise stabs his fork right through the double stack of pancakes. “Whatever,” he says.

“Hey!” Damen barks. “Show some respect.” He’s got the intimidation factor down. Nicaise concentrates on his food and when he does, Damen grins at the rest of the table. “I’m gonna be so good at being strict.” Then he takes away Theo’s uneaten fruit and lets him crumble a chocolate muffin between his fingers.

Auguste just beams at the entire scene. This all he ever wanted. That’s clear to Laurent now. He used to think Auguste should have medals and titles. But he only ever wanted to look after the people he loves.

“How’s work going?” Auguste asks Laurent.

“Why are adults so boring?” Nicaise groans, dramatically.

“Good,” Laurent replies. Torveld went back to head office so no more fake baby lie to maintain. Laurent is the most junior associate so they shove him into any random case the senior lawyers couldn’t take. He’s seen wills and divorces and a man who wanted to sue his barber for screwing up his fade. “I’m doing a custody case right now. I can’t wait to get to court and make the judge see this kid should be kept far away from his father.”

He notices the protective arm Damen puts around the back of Theo’s high chair. He’s not that kind of father. He never will be. People look at Damen, his size, his simmering temper, the assured way he carries himself, and assume he is capable of things he is not. It must be hard.

“It’s good you’re getting court time in,” Auguste says.

“Yeah. I’m applying again soon for the public defender’s office. I need all the experience I can get.”

Nicaise has basically slid off his chair.

“Sit up straight,” Damen says. Nicaise obeys. “I wanted to ask you for help with something.”

“Fix your own internet problems, old man.”

“I’m tendering for a project redesigning a school. You could look at it for me.”

“I suppose someone has to save those future kids from something that sucks. Bad enough they’ve got your generation for parents.”

“Great.” Damen smiles and Nicaise doesn’t glower, which is pretty close to a smile by his standards. He’s quiet for the rest of the meal. And, yes, the conversation is kinda boring and grown up. Laurent likes that. He’s getting closer and closer to being a successful adult and money has nothing to with it. It's about being mature and responsible and leaving his life out in the real world. Damen’s health insurance has gone up. Kashel’s applied for a promotion that won't have her on the road so much.  Auguste grins at Laurent across the table.

“What?”

“Our mother and father would be happy,” Auguste says. Kashel puts her hand on top of his. “And our uncle is rotting in a jail cell.” He didn’t make bail. So many more people have come forward. Those men have lost their power.

“You all really should be giving me more credit for that,” Nicaise says.

Laurent raises his orange juice in Auguste’s direction, a little salute. He can feel Damen’s knee press against his under the table. These are the things that make is possible to talk about their uncle like this. And go back to talking about other things, like how avocados really aren’t that great unless they're in guac and taking stupid pictures on their phones. Nicaise is suspiciously silent the rest of the meal, which makes Laurent think he’s plotting something.

Auguste and Damen think he’s behaving. Laurent really needs to explain some things to them.

“By the way,” Nicaise says as they’re putting on their coats. “Kashel wanted you to fuck her, Damen.”

“Duck!” Theo says.

Kashel turns the colour of her Bloody Mary.

“Is that so?” Damen asks, as if this is a regular occurrence. For him, it probably is. He once told Laurent that someone dropped a note onto his lap one time on a flight asking them to join him in the bathroom (and the mile high club.)

“Yep. Her and Auguste had it all worked out.”

“A threesome? I didn’t think you swung that way,” Damen says to a rather dazed Auguste.

“I —”

Laurent could intervene. If this wasn’t so entertaining. He caught Nicaise’s gaze, sparkling back at his own.

“I only wanted you for your sperm!” Kashel blurts. Many patrons turn to stare. Laurent wonders just how strong that Bloody Mary was.

“God,” Laurent says. “Way to objectify my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” As if Damen’s shit-eating grin could get any wider.

“Shut up.”

“Bro, I’m sorry.” Auguste finds his voice.

“No worries. You’re not the first person to only want me for my genetic material?” Damen hoists Theo into his arms while Nicaise gags. “Besides, I do make good babies.”

 

**Two months later.**

 

Laurent’s been fed rich chocolate mousse from Damen’s spoon, which should have been ridiculous but he loved every sensual second. (He might have used the opportunity to briefly draw one of Damen’s fingers between his lips.) His cheeks are slightly flushed from the warmth of the oven, or maybe the one glass of wine. Theo is gone with his mother for the weekend to a get together with her extended family and Damen’s worries are alleviated by a secret text thread with Jokaste’s father. Laurent normally wouldn’t approve. Two men choosing to distrust Jokaste like that shouldn’t set well. She might be a card-carrying member of the bitch alliance but she would never put Theo in danger.

But he and Damen have the apartment to themselves. They’ve had endless weeks of making out like horny teenagers, frantic handjobs, fraught blowjobs, one aborted attempt at penetration and some messy explorations leading up this.

“I have…” Damen begins, his eyes darker than usual. He has what Laurent did not have at home before — condoms and lube and an experience of being a healthy, sexually responsible adult.

“Lets go to bed.” Laurent’s glad of all the snatched moments and sleepovers that led up to this. He manages to sound confident, tugging Damen down the hall towards his bedroom. No, he feels confident too. They match — him and Damen. They touch each other in complimentary ways and it’s no secret they both drive the other one wild with lust. Damen has awoken some dormant part of Laurent that wants him, wants him all. He looks at Laurent like he’s the most precious thing in the world, with acute awareness of any minute reaction.

He’s slept here before, plenty of times. It’s no longer a novelty to brush his teeth and climb under the covers. He doesn’t know if they should do that now but as soon as his feet cross the threshold, Damen is walking him towards the bed with soft, urgent kisses. The backs of his knees his the mattress and then he’s splayed over the covers.

“You like me like this, don’t you?” Laurent says. It sounds arrogant, but it’s very much fact. Damen is looking down like he found a lost treasure.

“I like you every way.” Damen’s braced above him. He told Laurent once that once he left his father’s company, he stopped cutting his hair. He’s gotten a trim, since, but it grows in wild waves the soften his masculine features. Now, a tendril is falling over his forehead and it’s the nicest thing Laurent’s ever seen.

Laurent cranes his neck and nips at Damen’s clavicle.

“All right. I especially like you beneath me,” Damen says.

They’ve done so much fooling around, and they’re so caught up in the moment — the freedom and fervency of it all — that urgency takes over. Laurent’s shirt loses several buttons. He has to literally nudge Damen’s chest with his foot before he gets the hint to take of his leather shoes.

There’s laughter when Damen’s t-shirt tangles around his elbows but that fades away when Laurent’s faced with the sight of Damen’s chest — the dusting of hair and the brown skin and the beautifully formed muscles. He has to touch. They’re both touching all over; every newly minted inch of skin is fascinated. Laurent relishes the sensation and the fact that someone as pure as Damen wants him like this. He knows Damen enjoys the flush that spreads over Laurent’s pale skin. He enjoys pressing soft kisses in unexpected places and watching Laurent shiver.

The clothes are tossed away and there’s nothing between them. No lies. No weirdness. Streetlights shine in from outside. They bedroom door is  
open.

Laurent’s thigh slides along Damen’s. His hands are pressed against the pillow above his head. Damen kisses him all over, like it’s his only duty in the world.

“I —”

“Yes?” Damen looks up immediately, stilling, and Laurent’s heart might break from the loveliness.

He’s not as expressive as Damen. He’s normally better at talking.

“I never thought I could feel like this.” Laurent keeps his gaze averted.

“Keep talking.” Damen is generous with his affection. Laurent knows this. But he is human, too, and he rubs himself against Laurent. He likes this. Praise. Whatever. “I want to hear you.” He’s reaching for Laurent, the way he likes, and using his strong fingers to lightly trace where they’ll soon press.

“You’re so…much,” Laurent stammers. “It’s nearly overwhelming. When you focus on me…it’s like a spotlight.” Damen wets his own finger, then gets Laurent to lick it too. Then it’s moving again, making Laurent shiver. “I never thought it could be like this. That nerves and excitement and want could feel —”

Damen’s pressing into him now. Just the tip of his finger.

Laurent spreads his thighs wider.

“Go on.”

“Safe,” Laurent gasps. “Gentle. Considerate.”

He’s enjoying this and he wants to make Damen feel good, too. But he can’t move his arms. It’s too much. They’ve talked about how Damen likes to give. He swears it’s his favourite. Laurent believes it, by the size of his pupils and the hardness of his cock.

“Speaking of which…” It’s a testament to Damen’s size that he manages to get something from the side of the bed while still stroking Laurent. He’s eager enough to dump out the contents though. Condoms. Lube and…

“Have you just thrown a fake penis onto the bed?”

“A vibrator. I bought it especially,” Damen says.

“That’s not quite what I was asking.”

“We don’t have to turn it on.” Damen’s uncapping the lube. “Just for prep. It’s a good idea.”

“I’ve done this before,” Laurent’s voice is sharp.

“Lately?”

“All right. You’re the expert.”

Damen does turn it on. He’s still stroking everywhere when he presses it to Laurent’s nipples.

Laurent hisses. Damen knows he’s sensitive. Not every man is. Damen smiles and makes little circles. On Laurent’s chest. With his finger, barely inside, lubed now and moving easier. He runs the toy all over Laurent’s sensitive skin and then readies it to go inside him.

“Turn it off,” Laurent says. “I already explained what you do to me.”

Damen teases him some more before he works it inside. The toy is slim, nothing like Damen, but it feels good to Laurent who craves this right now. Blindly, Laurent reaches for Damen’s length. It’s his turn to hiss.

“This is about you,” Damen murmurs.

“No. Its about us.” Laurent can’t do much more than clumsily touch, not while Damen is pressing the toy inside him and laving kisses on his body. There’ll be marks. Laurent doesn’t care. “That feels…I might not last.”

“We have all night,” Damen says.

“I want…”

“Keep talking.”

“I want to feel you inside me. I want it….”

“Go on.” Damen’s wrist is moving faster. He pushes his cock into Laurent’s hand.

“I want it. I want you.” Laurent never thought he’d be talking like this either. He thought it would take away. “I want you to fill…”

Damen slips the toy out and rolls the condom down his impressive length. He’s so much bigger. But Laurent loves that. He wants that. His open and ready. He plants his heels flat on the bed, welcomes Damen inside his thighs. He wants to look at him. He couldn’t make eye contact before but now he can look nowhere else. Damen on top of him. Damen gazing down at him. Their eyes lock as Damen moves, slowly and carefully, until he’s all the way in.

“Laurent,” he says. But it’s like he’s saying something else. It’s like they’ve both made it home.

Before he starts to move, to unleash the power and chemistry of this shared thing, a moment stretches. Laurent thinks, somewhere in the back of his mind, of the swans. Once, he cut those birds in half. The outer calm and the hidden turmoil. But they’re one animal. Laurent understands them better now, as the only movement he makes is the shallow rise of his breathing. But there’s a million more things happening inside — the burst of his heart and the coursing of his veins and the delicious burn and stretch and the fullness inside; the eager bead that leaves his cock.

You can be still and you can be moving.

You can have so many things.

He could never explain the rush of pleasure that runs through him when Damen moves. It’s a physical thing, inside and out, and it’s seeing the look on Damen’s face.

But it’s something more too.

Perhaps joy.

 

**Six months later.**

 

Laurent’s tired to the bone; weary to the soul. It was just a couple of weeks ago he’d been brimming over with enthusiasm for his new job. Jokaste had given him the heads up and he’d kicked ass at a lie-free interview. Torveld had even given him a glowing reference. He’s happy to be working as a public defender now and since Damen’s in-demand at his job, they’re both enjoying a thriving career doing what they want. He’s ready for the long hours, emotional strain, frustration with the system and mediocre pay.

Mostly.

The deal was - he’d mostly get the juvenile cases. He wanted them. He wasn’t jaded yet.

But it’s not like world’s full of kid criminals and Laurent has to take his fair share of other cases, too. The drunk-drivers, armed-robbers, drug-possessors and shoplifters are fine. Mostly.

But defending a man who was caught with a match and a gas cannister outside his old house, while his ex and kids slept inside was not fine. There were ways to talk down the charges and Laurent was fine with making sure the court treated him fairly. The cold part of him was able to understand that it was good for him that the man got off with it. But God, his gut churned when the would-be arsonist and worse sauntered off for his visitation. Without a conviction, it would be harder for the mother and almost-victim to stop him seeing the children.

Laurent is still unwilling to drive when he’s under pressure so he takes an Uber home, turns off his phone and collapses into bed. Other people get drunk. They start fights. Laurent’s current method for dealing with the shittiest parts of the world is to block it all out. Also, he has a much larger case brewing and he stayed up most of the previous night prepping for it.

He falls into the a dead slumber — the kind where the sickness in your stomach and the belt buckle digging into your waist don’t matter.

He wakes with a jolt, confused. It’s dark. It could be any time of night.

It takes a moment to realise it he didn’t wake naturally. Someone’s pounding on his door. That’s what shocked him awake. Laurent stumbles to the door, confused. This would have scared him once. That’s something.

He still keeps the door on the chain when he opens it. He’s not an idiot.

It’s Damen. Damen is the one shouting and banging and he’s also carrying Theo, who’s wearing footie pyjmas and a blanket like a cape. It’s always nice to see them.

“Lama!” Theo says. He’s not quite gotten the hang of his name yet. This combination of Laurent and Mama (yes, mama. It’s the hair) is his best offer.

“What the fuck, Laurent?” Damen demands. “Don’t close the —”

“I’m just taking off the chain.” Laurent stands back so Damen doesn’t plough through him as he pushes inside. “What’s wrong?”

"You can’t scare me like that,” Damen rants as he places Theo on the couch. “I’ve been calling for hours. No-one heard from you. Your car is still outside the courthouse.”

“I — I’ve been here.” Laurent can’t quite process any of this. “We didn’t have plans, right? I don’t forget things.”

“The last message you sent me says I don’t know if I can do this.” Damen holds up his locked phone, as if that proves anything. “You can’t disappear. You can’t do that to people who love you and expect —”

“What did you just say?”

“I double-parked. I have to move my car.”

Laurent flops onto the couch. Theo promptly crawls into his lap. The poor kid is blinking, sleepy and confused. Damen dragged him out of his bed to look for Laurent.

“Are you all right, little man?” Laurent asks Theo, rubbing his soft hair. “Do you want Greenie?” Greenie is a throw cushion Theo developed an affection for as a result of Laurent not having any toys in his place. He accepts the little pillow and cuddles it to his little chest. “You’re tired.”

“No bed, Lama.”

Theo never wants to go to bed. Poor Damen.

He looks exhausted, too, when he returns to the apartment.  Something about his eyes.

“Well?” Laurent says. “I’m waiting.”

“For what?”

“An apology for over-reacting now that you’ve calmed down. I’ve already had one complaint from the neighbours, I don’t want anymore.”

Damen paces. “First of all, it’s not my fault you bought a shitty squeaky bedframe. Second of all, I’m waiting on you to apologise.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you that blind? Or just too stubborn to admit —” Damen stops pacing. “I’m going to put Theo down in the travel cot.”

“No!”

“Yes, buddy.” He scoops Theo out of Laurent’s lap and marches him down the hall.

Laurent pours two glasses of water. “I only agreed because Theo is exhausted. This isn’t an invitation to argue.”

Damen ignores the water, grabs a beer, says nothing.

“Furthermore, you have no right to storm in here and chastise me. I’m an adult. I went to bed. It’s not —”

Damen curses. His face is suddenly inches from Laurent’s.

“Don’t you see?” He demands. “I was worried sick. You can’t just go MIA and expect me not to care. It’s not…you’re not on your own Laurent. You have to —”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“You sound like a child, do you know that?”

“You sound like an overprotective, domineering, arrogant —” Laurent stops. He sags against the counter. “Damen, I know you mean well but you don’t own me. I can’t just change —”

“Just try, Laurent. Just make a little effort to consider that people care about you. I care about you. You’re not alone.”

It’s new. Too new for Laurent to do anything but grasp at the edges of what’s happening. Deep down, he knows that Damen’s not trying to control him. He cares. But sharing his life is so new, and he fought alone for so long, he forgets he’s supposed to think of other people.

“I’ll be more considerate in future,” he says.

Damen grins like he won a battle. “That’s all I ask.”

“That was our first real fight, wasn’t it?”

“That was nothing,” Damen says. “No-one even broke any tablewear.”

“I held myself back for Theo’s sake.” Laurent moves his body a certain way, knowing that Damen will wrap his arms around him. “I wanted to skin you alive when you stomped in here like you owned the place.” Damen holds in a predictable embrace. “All that strength and confidence,” Laurent mutters. “I hate it.”

“Would you say that under oath?”

“Shut up.” There’s a few silent minutes before Laurent says, “I had a bad day at court.”

“You lost?”

“No. But I almost wish I had.”

“The good will outweigh the bad.”

Laurent knows that Damen truly believes that, and the fact of his limitless optimism is the best comfort.

“I didn’t miss what you said before you parked the car,” Laurent says.

“You don’t miss anything.” Damen doesn’t sound annoyed or embarrassed. Laurent blushes against his neck. “Want me to say it again?”

“There’s no need. I know it,” Laurent says. “I hope you know it’s the same—”

“Yes,” says Damen. “You don’t need to say it either.

 

**Nine months later**

It’s a strange place to feel lucky but Laurent’s heart soars outside his therapist’s office. He decided to find a new therapist a month after his uncle’s arrest. _I’ll tell Damen when I find one that works. When I’m ready to tell him some of these things,_ he had thought.

And promptly spilled everything once he hung up the phone after making his first appointment. Well, not everything. There are some things that belonged to Laurent alone. There are things he will die with and that’s all right. He doesn’t expect Damen or Auguste or anyone to share the deepest parts of their psyche with him. Damen’s been violent in the past. He’s thought and said some ugly things about Jokaste and Kastor. Laurent knows this and has never pushed. Auguste was an active soldier. Laurent’s never expected his brother to tell him what it was like to fire his gun.

But he did speak to Damen. And Damen listened, without judgement, and now he’s picking him up from his appointment. Before Laurent climbs into the car, he already knows Damen has a cappuccino in the cupholder and he won’t say anything unless Laurent’s ready to initiate conversation.

“Hi,” Laurent says, with a quick squeeze of Damen’s knee.

“Hey.” Damen’s eyes crinkle when he smiles a certain way. Laurent loves that.

“Hi!” Theo pipes up from the backseat. “Lama, we have cookies.” Theo can say his name now, just about, but the nickname has stuck. It means Nicaise relentlessly tags him in llama memes online and then blocks Laurent if he responds in any way.

“Gimme.” Laurent angles his hand backwards so Theo can drop a slightly mushy cookie into his palm “Oatmeal!” Laurent exaggerates his disappointment just to hear Theo giggle. “Gross.Where’s the chocolate, Damen?”

“Stop encouraging him. I have to at least try to be healthy with him sometimes.”

“I have sushi with Mama,” Theo says.

“Is that even safe?” Laurent asks.

“Google it. Before I drop him off. We have to take a detour because her highness is doing a skype interview,” Damen says. “She couldn’t pick him up at the usual time.”

“You should have said. I would —”

“I like picking you up,” Damen replies. “And we were out anyway.”

“Out to pick Lama up,” Theo offers through a mouthful of cookie.

“Caught!” Laurent’s smiling though. “She told me about the job application. What do you think?”

“She’ll get it. She gets everything she wants,” Damen says. “If she leaves town, she’ll get every third weekend. We’ve talked about it.”

“Whatever happens,” Laurent says. “I hope I get a chance to go up against her in court first.”

“If that happens, I’ll bring popcorn,” Damen says.

-

Laurent waits in the car while Damen and Theo go back into their apartment building to drop Theo off. He and Jokaste have an understanding, but that doesn’t mean their interactions aren’t awkward. Anyway, they’re Theo’s parents. They don’t need an audience. He calls Auguste to pass the time.

Nicaise answers.

“You took my watch,” he spits.

“Hello, dear foster-nephew. I’m well. Thank you for asking.”

“You had no right to go into my stuff and —”

“Nicaise. You stole my watch. I merely took it back.”

“I won it fair and square!”

“I bet ten dollars. You can’t change the terms after the competition starts. And I am pretty sure you peaked in the envelopes before they announced it.”

Last week, Damen had won Best Refurbished Space and Best Emerging Talent at the National Architecture Awards. It was a black tie event, which was wonderful for Laurent who loved to admire Damen in formalwear. It was also a momentous day for Damen - the chance for him to prove to himself and the rest of the world that he could excel outside of father’s shadow. He was making waves in the design world while working part time, raising Theo full time and building his own house.

To stop Nicaise from wreaking havoc during the banquet, Laurent engaged in some friendly gambling.

“It was obvious he was gonna win!”

“Because you have such faith in his talents?”

“Ew. No. They wouldn’t have allocated so many tickets if he wasn’t gonna win. It’s like how they make sure the winners of the Teen Choice Awards are def gonna be there. Duh.”

“Of course,” Laurent says.“Look, I’ll make a new deal.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are you on my phone?” Auguste asks in the background.

“It’s just Laurent.”

“I got that watch for my sixteenth birthday,” Laurent says. “I’ll get you one when you turn fifteen. That’s a whole year earlier than me and Auguste did. Deal?”

There’s silence. Laurent waits. Nicaise has not gone. The kid is just a thinker.

“What if I’m not here when I’m fifteen?”

“Where else would you be?”

“I could be scouted in an airport like Kate Moss. Hopefully by a good agency. Who approached you that time?”

“Ford,” Laurent says. “But you’d need to hit a growth spurt first.”

“I could be on the cover of Nylon,” he says.

“Not Vogue?”

“Not right away.”

“Nicaise, give me the phone,” Auguste says.

“I’ll get the watch no matter where you are,” Laurent promises. “But I think you’ll be at home, still.”

“Laurent, what are you saying to him?” Auguste comes on then.

“Nothing.”

“Did you call for nothing too?”

“No. I wanted to say something.”

“Yeah?” Auguste is patient. He doesn’t push.

“Thank you for everything.” Laurent hangs up before Auguste gets mushy. Damen’s getting back into the car anyway. They’re driving out to the site where he’s building the house for one last … something. Damen gets very precise and enthusiastic about the construction stuff. It’s important to him. A lot of it goes over Laurent’s head. His head’s not really here right now anyway. He spent the last hour talking about what he would do if his uncle’s case goes public. He’s still awaiting trial. It’s a whole mess.

At the site, which has been leveled and wired and plumbed and other essential things, Damen gets out of the car first and goes to talk to his contractor. Laurent changes his shoes (he learned that lesson the hard way) and waits for Damen to be alone until he gets out.

At least he can blame the muddy ground for the way he skids to a stop. Laurent has recently discovered he has a…thing for this certain side of Damen. The ripped jeans, workboots, dirty hands and earthy scent side of Damen. Honestly, Laurent wouldn’t complain if this build went on forever. He liked it when Damen spent time on site.

“What?” One side of Damen’s mouth is quirked into a smile.

“Nothing.” Then, “Shut up.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

“Everyone’s gone,” Laurent says, while he hooks a finger through the loop of Damen’s jeans. It’s a thrill to be possessive though it’s just for them. He never thought anyone would be his as much as Damen is. He never imagined a man like Damen would bend to his whims and smile at him for it.

“Except for us,” Damen replies. “I’m all dirty though. The temp plumbing was a mess —”

Laurent puts his finger over Damen’s lips. “Don’t ruin it,” he says. “You know I like you like this.” He grabs Damen’s collar to pull him close enough to kiss. His heart flips at the sensation and the fact it’s matched inside Damen. Each kiss, whether it be a quick peck in the morning or a deep, damp thing, sends the same burst of emotion through them both. Laurent shoves Damen’s jacket off his shoulders until it catches awkwardly around his elbows.

“Trying to tie me up?” Damen’s voice is laced with mirth.

“No.” He turns Damen around and yanks the jacket rest of the way free. “I need this.”

“What for?” Damen’s eyes are dark as he looks over his shoulder.

Laurent folds it and drops it on the dirt. “I don’t want to get my pants dirty.”

“Here?” Damen is grinning through his shock.

“Here.” Laurent unbuttons Damen’s fly, and allows his gaze to roam as his jeans fall around the muscular thighs. He’s eager to do this; drunk with daring. He feels young and spontaneous; safe, always safe with Damen. And incerdibly hot for this.

“Wait,” Damen croaks, which isn’t what anyone wants to hear from their knees. “I wanted to talk about something.”

“What?”

“I can’t remember.”

“You won’t remember your name when I’m done,” Laurent promises.

-

  
He still gets mud on his knees, and that’s going to be embarrassing later. He can taste Damen in his mouth and he’s not quite sure if he wants to know what Damen used to clean off Laurent’s stomach.

“You’re such a good boyfriend,” Laurent says, dreamily, resting against an old tree Damen insist not be torn down to make it easier for the equipment to get in and out of the site.

“Yes. I always reciprocate orgasms and I can deepthroat like a pro.”

Laurent laughs. “A pro couldn’t get all the way down what you have. I’m … built differently.”

“Or I’m just more enthusiastic.”

“You flatter me,” Laurent says. “I just jumped your bones in public. In broad daylight, Damen. We’re outside.” Reality sets in. Laurent isn’t shy but he is private. He’s never been this reckless.

“This is my land,” Damen replies, as he tugs Laurent to his feet and against his side.

“Aren’t you king of the castle.”

“Come on, I want to show you the newest outline.” There are ropes and posts marking what will become the walls of Damen’s new house. The cement mixer’s in place, as are the pipes. “Foundations go down tomorrow. I went back to the original, where it followed the shape of the old house as much as possible.”

“I liked that.”

“There’s just one final thing,” Damen says. “Here. See? The angle of this hallway.” Laurent knows Damen can visualise what he has to work to see. “Keep it square or have it like this? Jutting slightly with a a floor to ceiling window?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ve always done clean lines. But I think…when the light comes in the evening it could be great. You can see it now, kind of, through the trees.” Damen makes a triangle with his large hands, the hands that just brought Laurent to his peak.

“I can see it,” he says.

“But would you like it?”

“That’s hardly the point. It’s your house.”

“But —” A wrinkle forms between Damen’s eyebrows. “Laurent, it won’t just be my house. Won’t it be our house? Not until you are comfortable, of course, but that’s the plan, right? I’ll be home in the afternoons at least until Theo starts high school.”

“Because you start work at five AM.”

“You you won’t get in until later. All those cases and paperwork. Late evenings, takeout for dinner. But the golden hour light would suit you when you come home and you could leave your briefcase on the Launnier there and —”

“Damen,” Laurent interrupted. “You’ve been thinking of this?”

“A little.”

“I…I’d like that, too.” He can feel his cheeks flush. “I mean, I am not entirely convinced you’re not just doing this for my antique table and we need to review the master closet plans but, yes, I like the sound of that so much.”

Damen wraps Laurent up on one of this big bear hugs, lifting him right of his feet. “We’re laying foundations for our new house in the morning.”

“Our new house,” Laurent echoes. _My new life._

 

  
**Twelve months later**

  
Laurent is on a six match ban for a a perfectly logical slide tackle which, unfortunately, left one of the Clansmen with a broken tibia. Laurent is an excellent defender and found he was even starting to enjoy Soccer Saturday before the sad event occurred. The opposing team’s striker had said something to Damen that Laurent did not like at the coin toss, but that was mere coincidence.

Laurent is a better manager anyway. Relegated to the sidelines, he provides with team with impeccable strategy and also holds onto the bag of oranges the team eat at half-time. Today he also has Theo, who is happily playing under a parasol.

Nicaise loiters close enough to speak to Laurent but far enough away that Laurent has to strain his ears when Nicaise deigns to open his mouth.

“The keeper sucks,” he says. “Hey! Keeper, you suck!”

It’s a saturday league. The other team’s goalie is a retired piano tuner. Laurent says as much.

“Whatever.” Nicaise sneers. “I meant Pallas. They should just give me his spot.”  
“For one thing, he didn’t do anything when Damen knocked him out at the courthouse last year,” Laurent says.

“He told everyone he caught you two making out in the locker room last month!”

“We weren’t just making out.”

“You’re disgusting,” Nicaise says.

“I’m your best friend,” Laurent replies, sincerely.

“And me!” Theo pipes up.

“And you,” Laurent adds, seriously. “Didn’t you hear what Auguste said during the week? Once you’re sixteen you can play matches….” He grows distracted. “Ref! Ref!That was a foul. Nikandros, mark him! Sorry, Nicaise. You can do more than train once your old enough.”

“I can’t wait to be sixteen.”

“So you can spend more time with us?”

“So I can learn drive and break shins on the soccer field. That video I took of you has over three thousand views on instagram.”

“Wonderful,” says Laurent.

“And, like, it doesn’t make us the Von Trapps or anything.”

“No,” says Laurent.

“Like, it’s so fucking cheesy that team will nearly be all family. I’m embarrassed to even be here. And oh my God, why does he let Kastor play?”

A couple of months ago, Kastor started showing up for training. Then games. He doesn’t talk to anyone and doesn’t go for drinks with the team. But he’s there. And it makes Damen happy.

“They’re family,” Laurent says. “He’s pretty decent in the wings.”

“He spilled my gobstoppers that time.”

“And we are paying for it ever since — Goal! Damen, that was amazing! Theo, cheer for Daddy!” Laurent picks Theo up so they can celebrate adequately. Nicaise pretends to puke. “Come on, I bet there are things you would still do with your mother.”

“We used to watch property shows together and judge people,” Nicaise replies. “Sometimes we text during House Hunters International. They let her watch it in the common room, even though she’s staff now. But this week she kept asking me about the court thing. It was so annoying.”

“I had decided not to bring it up.”

“Are you going to the sentencing?” Nicaise asks.

“I think the hearing was enough.” When Laurent heard the judge pronounce his uncle guilty, it was like setting fire to the past. “But I will if you want me to.”

“I don’t need you. Anyway, they keep bugging me to do a victim impact statement. Like, the judge already knows what he’s gonna give them. And the prosecution has Aimeric, and you know he loves to wallow. They don’t need me.”

“It might —”

“Do me good. That’s what Auguste said. And the therapy dude. But, like, they want me to make it juicy or whatever. But they don’t have the right to my pain. It’s mine.”

“I know.” That’s why Laurent had gone against everything he stood for as a lawyer and decided against coming forward about his own experience.

“Like, why do they need to know the impact?”

“They don’t,” Laurent says. “It’s about…justice. Giving the —giving you and the others a chance to voice your feelings and let the judge know exactly how it affected you.”

“The others can do that,” Nicaise says. “I would get up there and point. I would say he - Guion - arranged for me to be fuh—”

“Please remember Theo is right there.”

“…for that to happen. Audin did it to me. Your uncle wanted to do it and would have if given half the chance. But I don’t think the prosecution would approve. It’s a shame the bitch is gone.”

“Again, Theo is right there. That's his mother you're talking about.”

“I still might go though,” Nicaise says. “I might throw things at all of them this time. You go to court a lot. What do you think I could get through security?”

“Maybe a paint balloon,” Laurent says. “Rotten eggs.”

“Cool,”says Nicaise. “We can meet on Monday to strategise.”

Naturally, they win. Damen scores three goals, one of which Kastor assists. Nicaise distracts the ref and somehow Kastor gets a nice kick in at one of the opposing team who said something derogatory about ‘playing for both teams’ during warmup. Auguste pretends not to see any of it.

After the game, Damen gives a rousing Captains’s speech and Laurent does his Player-Manager takedown of their failings.

“Hey, we still won,” Damen says as everyone else filters off. Kashel has taken Nicaise and Theo for ice-cream.

“You should have scored again in the after their goal,” Laurent says. As he speaks, he sidles closer to Damen. There’s something about the way Damen’s shirt clings to his muscles and the rivulets of sweat that bring out his most primal instincts. It would be embarrassing, except Damen’s just as gone for him. “You’re better than that.”

“I was distracted.”

“Oh?” Trying to sound nonchalant.

“Yeah. I was thinking about something. And I was a little sore.”

“Where?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Then what were you thinking about?”

Damen’s eyes are half closed. Must be the sun. “Toys.”

“I told you I am stalking eBay for that one Buzz Lightyear Theo wants. I am not above getting Auguste to hack the other bidders to get them out of the running.”

Damen’s smiles, like he knows a secret. “I wasn't thinking about Buzz, exactly.”

“Mr. Potato Head? He’s easy to find. Oh, no…don’t tell me Theo’s changed his mind. Damen, you’ll have to change it back. His voice is so annoying. We’re not getting Woody.”

Damen’s lip twitches. His jaw, too. His eyes are dancing. “Not that kind of toy, Laurent.”

Laurent’s heart stops. “Oh?”

Failing to sound nonchalant.

“Our toy,” Damen continues. “I…tried it last night, since you abandoned me to sleep alone.”

“And you didn’t even send me a picture?” Which might have been for the best. Laurent might have combusted had he seen Damen doing that to himself. He might have abandoned his supervision duties (Nicaise would not tolerate the term babysitter) and sped across town to see it with his own two eyes.

“My hands were occupied,” Damen says. “I wanted….to see if I would like it. To see what it would feel like before we — do that.”

“Do what?”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Bedroom talk.” Said in the throes of passion, when hands and tongues and fingers wandered.

“I liked it,” Damen says. “I wasn’t sure…I’ve never wanted….but I liked it. And I love the thought of doing that with you. I want to you to take me. I want to feel you inside me.”

“Oh my God,” Laurent groans, and furtively glances around. “Stop.”

“You don’t —”

“We’re both wearing soccer shorts. Stopping is a matter of personal decency.  Of course I want to fuck you!” Then he blushes at the forthrightness.”Tonight.”

“Tonight,” Damen promises.

Laurent groans again.

**Eighteen months later.**

“Tell me again,” Laurent says, pulling one knee up under his chin. “Why I am in a hot car on a long drive on this fine Saturday afternoon when I could be lounging on our new deck with a book and that fancy pressed juice.”

“Because you love me? And our family.” Damen’s dimple shows when he grins across from the driver’s seat. It still makes Laurent’s hear flutter.He hopes he will be an old man getting young man giddy over that smile. “Also, I really want to see the ottoman in person before I commit.”

“Do you realise how long I’ve been waiting for Winds of Winter to come out?”

“Do you realise the show passed it out. Let go. It’s over.”

“Pull over. We’re done.”

Damen laughs. “I love you, too. And we can even stop at the nice gas station on the way.”

“Who says romance is dead?” Laurent wants to say that it’s really not fair they have to bring Theo all the way to Jokaste on her weekend. At the very least, she should meet halfway. All their jobs are demanding. They all like to socialise. (Though in his case he only likes to see Damen, Auguste and a couple of work people at work events only. Sorry Nikandros.) He’s learned the hard way to not to bring this up to Damen. (Jokaste, not Nikandros. Actually, Jokaste and Nikandros.)

It’s not that Damen is defensive of Jokaste. It hurts his soul that she doesn’t give Theo everything he deserves.

Also, Theo is going through a stage where he demands full attention from the back of the car at all times. It can make driving, and normal conversation, bothersome. Laurent loves Theo. Damen loves his son beyond reason and he values every moment of time they spend together.

But sometimes you just want to talk to a grown up.

“Radio?” Damen says.

“Does that mean you’re in charge of the radio?” Laurent asks.

“Can we have Disney? Oooh can you and Daddy do Love is an Open Door, Lama?”

“That was a one time thing, Theo,” Laurent replies.

“Will you tell me the story about the piggies? No, the ugly duck. No, the piggies and the wolf.”

“At bedtime, buddy,” Damen replies.

“I wasn’t asking you.”

Laurent laughs. “I don’t know where he gets the sass from.”

“Spending too much time with Nicaise?” Damen glances in the rearview mirror. Theo’s gotten distracted by his toys. This week, he’s really into farm animals. Damen turns on the radio, and thus begins the endless scrolling through stations. It’s a thing he does, like endlessly flicking through the television channels. Laurent prefers to pick a playlist and stick to it. He would rather let Netflix autoplay a whole series. They’ve learned to agree to disagree.

Damen sings along mindlessly, too. His voice is a rich rumble that soothes Laurent like little else in this world.

Until he starts directing his singing at Laurent.

_You’re insecure/don’t know what for/turning heads when you walk through the do-oh-oor..._

“Next,” Laurent demands.

_Oh / we’re halfway there —_

“Next!”

_If you be my bodyguard/I can be your long last pal…._

  
Laurent doesn’t protest. The volume of both Damen and the radio gets higher. The trees whip by and dappled light flashes into the car. Theo’s playing imaginary farm in the backseat and Laurent is half thinking of his new project and half thinking how lucky he is.

_I/ I’m so in love with you. /Whatever you want to do/Is all right with me…_

Laurent indulges this for half a song and switches the station. They have a rule that if you switch, you have to stay. So it’s not a risk one takes easily. He can’t get sappy this hour of the day. If he does, he’ll agree to Damen spending money the need for their future on antique furniture.

So they’re stuck with Uptown Funk — a song so inoffensively catchy that no-one loves or hates it.

Well, at least until Damen starts changing the words to suit him.

 _Stylin'/ whilen / livin' it up in the city_  
_I got my son/and I got Laurent ..._

“Oh my God. Theo, your father is a  certified cheeseball.”

“No. You said he was a beefcake.”

“Oh my God.” He buries his face in his hands and pretends he is neither blushing or smiling as Damen murders the rest of the lyrics. The next song is no better. But Laurent can’t switch again. It is against their sense of fairness. And considering his luck, it may be something worse.

If there was anything worse than this. There's always something worse.

_I’d trade my soul for a kiss/Pennies and dimes for a wish/I wasn’t looking for this…_

It’s annoying enough that Nicaise wakes from his nap. Or continued sleep. He wanted to come with them but he doesn’t like to get out of bed before noon at the weekend. He’d crawled into the back of the car with his duvet around his shoulders and Laurent had almost forgotten he was with them.

“This is child abuse,” he says, as Damen gets louder and more off-key. "I'm telling Charls."

“Can’t hear you,” Laurent calls, as Damen busts into the chorus

 _Hey/I just met you/And this is crazy_  
_But could I briefly/borrow your baby_  
_It’s hardtofind/a kid who could be your baby_  
_I’m not a weirdo/just wanna borrow your baby_

Shock makes Laurent shake with laughter. He knows Damen is a dweeb at heart but every now and then it catches him by surprise. Damen has his Proud Face on, beaming all around the car.

“More, Daddy!” Theo kicks his legs. Nicaise slinks down as low as his seatbelt will allow him.

“You’re embarrassing,” he says. “Theo deserves better.”

“How long have you been waiting to sing that?” Laurent asks Damen.

“I just came up with it right this second,” he sings.

“You’re disgusting,” says Nicaise, pulling his iPad out from under the blanket. “Theo, you don’t have to listen to this. Come on. Let’s find something to watch. Where’s our headphone splitter?” They are soon engrossed in Spongebob or something and Damen turns down the volume and finds a non-irritating radio station. He also squeezes Laurent’s knee with a content grin on his face.

“Good plan,” he says. “We’ll have peace all the way there now.”

“I planned for music. Not for your terrible versions of terrible songs.”

“You love it, really.”

“No comment.”

-

The market is about twenty minutes from Jokaste’s new apartment. She’s going to meet them there later and take them to a Japaneses restaurant. Last time, she thought Nicaise to use chopsticks and he demanded to go back there to show off his new skills. But first, Damen has to deliberate over an ottoman and Nicaise has to haggle with a hipster over a vintage shirt. Laurent is content to wander with Theo. He buys a couple of Vinyls, plum jam and some fresh lemonade that could do with a bit more sugar. They share one cup and keep the second for Damen. Nicaise, after he’s blown his allowance from Auguste, will insist on either an espresso or a ridiculous frappe later. There is no in between with him.

“I’m going to call Auguste,” Laurent tells Theo.

“Uncle Auguste,” Theo says and it’s not clear if he’s confirming or correcting.

“Yes,” Laurent says. “They’re meeting about the new baby today.” One of Kashel’s unofficial sisters is in the early stages of surrogacy. Damen’s already waiting for her womb to be vacant to see if she might do the same for him and Laurent.

“Good. I’m not a baby anymore,” Theo pronounces,wisely.

“Guess what?” Auguste says, as soon as he picks up the phone.

“I know this joke!”Theo shouts.

“What?”Laurent says.

“Two of the embryos successfully implanted,” Auguste says.

“Twins?”

“Twins.” Wow.

“Can I tell Damen? Can we buy you a big bottle of whiskey?”

“Yes and yes. Not Nicaise though. We want to tell him in person.”

Laurent’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. “Auguste?”

“Yes?”

“I am happy for you,” he says. “You’re gonna be a wonderful father.”

“Thanks,” Auguste says. “Now I have to stop Kashel buying all the baby clothes in the store.”

“What about the baby?” Theo asks. “Is it here?”

“Not for a while yet. And there’s going to be two babies.”

“I hope two are boys,” Theo says. “No girls in our family. They’d steal my glitter.”

“That would be awful.”

“What would be awful?” Nicaise demands, as he Damen finally return.

“If you wear that ruffled shirt in public,” Laurent teases.

“Um, it’s for a New Romantic photoshoot I am working on.”

“With who?”

“Myself, duh. Can Theo come with us?”

“That’s kind of up to me, kiddo.” But Damen waits for Laurent to nod before removing Theo from his stroller. “I’m his dad.”

“But Laurent is the boss.”

“Where are you going? If I am the boss you have to tell me.”

“There is a stall selling wooden swords and archery equipment.”

“It’s cool enough, I guess.” Nicaise’s eyes are shining, though. “Wanna fight, Theo?”

“I wanna win.”

“I want to sit and drink my lemonade,” Laurent says. He used to fence. He is quite sure he could beat the three of them but he also needs to text Kashel congratulations and check his work emails while Damen isn’t here to reprimand him. He can see his boys enthusiastically bashing each other with wooden swords. He can see the worried face of the stallholder.

“Laurent!” He can hear a very familiar voice that makes him put down his phone.

“Torveld.” He stands and receives an enthusiastic handshake that turns into an awkward hug. “Good to see you.”

“What are you doing here? Have you moved? You do know there’s always a place for you at Patras and Patras. Your work with the public defence has been exemplary. I’ve kept track.”

“Thank you,” Laurent says. “And thank you for the reference again. But, no, I don’t live here. This is just a day trip.”

“For the jam?” Nodding at Laurent’s purchases. “It’s amazing, right? One of the young men in the office makes them to sell at the weekend.They’re delicious.”

Something tells Laurent Torveld’s eagerness is more about the jam than it’s maker. Laurent glances over to Damen and the boys, who are now testing what looks like miniature crossbows.

“I look forward to trying them.”

“And I look forward to your newest project,” Torveld adds. “I read about it in the state bar association newsletter. We need more youth advocates in the courtoom. I’ll talk to Torgier about a donation on monday.”

“That would be much appreciated. By the end of the year, I’ll be in solo practice three days and the guardian ad litum service two days. It needs to be financially viable for me, too.” If there was one thing Laurent had learned as a public lawyer is that the most vulnerable people needed a lot more assistance than any one person could give. Purpose finds you in the most unexpected places.

Like the large man falling to the ground, playing dead, at the mercy of a sullen teen and a silly boy.

“Well, let me know how we can help the fundraising,” Torveld says. “I am sure you won’t have any issue with donors. Oh! Is that why you are in town? There was a ball last night.” Which was why Jokaste was unwilling to collect Theo.

“No,” replies Laurent. “Do you see those reprobates beating each other up over there?” If he can’t, Torveld will certainly hear the commotion they are making.

“Clients of yours…no, I recognise that man. It’s Damianos. Of Akielos.”

“Yes,” says Laurent, beaming. “My fiance. That’s our nephew, Nicaise and Theo, our son.”

The words are true, so very true, that Laurent’s heart could burst.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and they live happily ever after. the end
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for your support and feedback! I appreciate it so much! I'm on twitter @ruby__wednesday and tumblr @ruby--wednesday if you want to be fandom friends <3 <3


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